


Adrien's Menorah

by Sameshima_Shuzumi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Self-Discovery, Adrien Agreste is Just Trying His Best, Adrien Bakes, Ally Offering Shelter, Alternate Universe - Jewish, Chanukah, Cooking, Crafts, Episode: s03 Félix, Except for the British Museum but they had it coming let's be real, Families of Choice, Fluff, Food, Food Misconceptions, Gabriel Agreste is Trash, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hanukkah, Holiday Fatigue, Holidays, Jewish Adrien Agreste, Menorah, Menorah Car Parade, Oblivious Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Off-screen Reckless Biking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Bad Parents, Past Canonical Minor Character Death, Puns & Word Play, References to antisemitism, S'vivon | Dreidel, Singing/Dancing/Listening To Music Together, We Embarrass Marinette-Dupain Cheng, basically the whole class being friends with each other, but mostly fluffy fluff, f o u n d f a m i l y, family gathering, heritage erasure, meaning of home, otherwise chill, pre-reveal, skip the first section if you don't want to read it, therefore:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Sameshima_Shuzumi
Summary: Or:La hanoukkia de AdrienAdrien dares to celebrate a heritage he hardly knew he had. Not under his father's roof he can't. So he comes up with the perfect plan.He finds a different roof—just in time for la Fête des Lumières. One problem? He doesn't have any lights. Will he fail at Hanouccah before the first night even begins?Well, not if his friends have anything to say about it!
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Classmates, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Emilie Agreste, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Everyone, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Félix Graham de Vanily, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug's Parents, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Nino Lahiffe, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Sabine Cheng & Tom Dupain, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hanukkah except French! And homemade? Author is not either~ Thanks to runrundoyourstuff on tumblr for clarifying key details. Please let me know if there's something I can do better! 
> 
> (While author is salty .... the fic itself is _super fluffy_ past the * * *.) 
> 
> Terms for new: Menorah and the specific Hanukkah menorah are not the same thing. (That's only a TIL because I can't count.) Hanukkiah is the latter.  
> Chanukah and Hanukkah are... the same thing. Kind of. They're transliterations, as I understand it, but Hanukkah is the romanized one. (Ex. The Scottish dictionaries go with Chanukah because they've got their own, similar _ch_ sound.) They *are* different sounds, technically! Both are hard to render unambiguously in English. I... don't hear the difference given my inability to learn German.  
> And Hanouccah is the usual French spelling. The 'ou' seems the common thread in all the variants.
> 
>  **CW**  
>  Gabe does not appear. Still horrible ofc.  
> Skip the * * * section for no Gabe at all!  
> There _is_ an ambiguous situation surrounding Félix; that is mostly a function of his branch of the family being chaotic neutral. I promise any stereotypes will be overturned once he gets a POV.  
> Roland Dupain is also mentioned, and even in disney-speak he's a big ole bigot.
> 
> Oh yeah. Canon does not belong to me, fanworks are not an endorsement of canon, and unauthorized duplication and distribution prohibited.
> 
> Last but not least, this is not meant to be prescriptive. Adrien et al are cobbling together religious observances. They're doing their best~

* * *

It starts when an old photographer stops by, who remarks that she's surprised that Adrien is working on Saturdays. The memory strikes him: Mother complaining of the same thing, and Father apologetic as he says it can't be helped. This time. 'It can't be helped this time'? It sticks when Adrien recalls what they did on Saturdays.

They ate together. At a specific mealtime, and he wasn't to miss it. 

*

It really starts when Chat Noir asks Ladybug if he can skip Friday night patrols.

She's a bit peeved, saying that's their busiest night, but reverses course when she sees the guilt on his face. "Aw, kitty, I'm sorry! I can cover. I'd miss you, that's all," and she wrinkles her nose when he hugs her, and messes up his hair. "Don't worry about it. Our civilian lives are important too."

*

He has three Saturday photoshoots in a row.

*

Adrien loves and dreads the approach of the winter holidays, because he loves the traditions but he loathes missing school. Every other student is happy to see the end of term. It's not something he can complain about, if at all. Even Nino wears out when he brings it up too often. And this year he notices all the bright lights, the laughter, and the happy families. 

Plagg twitches in his pocket, and Adrien can hear his father's voice — 'You don't want to learn that. If you prefer alternate logography, Chinese is perfect. It could prove useful.' 

Except hadn't Mother been the one to suggest...?

That's it. He is going to do this! Even if it's just him and Plagg! 

The question is _how_. He stares at the floor-to-ceiling windows, now frosted from the morning chill. His only gap in the security net is the one he uses to exit as Chat Noir. He couldn't risk that being blown; all of Paris depends on it. And if he lights a candle...

Someone would see.

Which is the point! The light is supposed to spill out into the street, where he can see it from their town car, from the rooftops at mid-vault, from the Eiffel Tower! 

The sight of which will eventually get back to his father.

What is he going to do?

*

Marinette stares at Adrien's profile. He's not only reddened from the heat of the oven. "I'm not even allowed to walk around the 4th Arrondissement," he's saying. "'Too many bad influences.'"

"He wouldn't make you stop, would he?"

He sighs. His hands dig into his pockets. "He named me Adrien, among other things."

* * *

##### Half an hour ago

Marinette doesn't even notice them as she rushes through the bakery. She overheard Adrien asking Alya about macaroons, not macarons, and who would confuse the two which are totally different! Not her! So she's balancing cartons of eggs and the bag of shredded coconut because she's only allowed to bake unsupervised in their family kitchen, when it dawns on her that she's _overhearing Adrien_.

Right now. Two meters away.

"—and Kagami were kind enough to cover for me. She really does have a tournament to prepare for. So I can get away until 1800. It's just that... if I rent a space, Nathalie will find out..."

Around the bend, her mother's voice. "Oh! Don't you worry about that! You could use our living room!"

"I couldn't impose... I haven't asked Nino yet..."

"Nonsense, we're a short walk from your school. It's no trouble at all." Sabine Dupain-Cheng steps into view, her hand light on Adrien's shoulder. "Marinette's friends always have a place with us." As Marinette covers a squeak, Adrien glances away, his throat moving, a bit overcome. "Besides, that's when we're busiest. No one's using that room except... Marinette!"

"Gah! Gh! Hi!"

Adrien perks up. "Oh, hello, Marinette!" 

"What's going on?" Tom Dupain fills the doorway, flushed from loading the ovens. He spares a ruffle of his daughter's hair. Marinette tries not to drop the eggs.

Sabine smiles. "How about I take over, and Adrien can fill you in. Marinette, go on ahead."

"Let me take some of those!" Adrien volunteers, and before she can gasp out a word, the coconut and two cartons of eggs are in his arms. Which brushed her arms. 

"Th-thanks," Marinette manages.

She turns to find her father beaming down at them in a not-at-all suspect manner. The master baker immediately recognizes what she's making. "Don't forget the cake flour!" He grabs an entire sack of it and slings it on a shoulder. At Marinette's glare, he smiles innocently. "We only have all-purpose upstairs."

So she trudges up, hoping she can live down her... very good friend... carrying the ingredients to the recipe she was making for him. Did she left anything incriminating in the living room? She wracks her brain.

Her purse knocks into her hip. 

No, wait. _Tikki_ is rapping on her leg. What had she missed? She wasn't listening...

"—better consulting a rabbi, son. I studied up as soon as I could leave that house, but that was years ago, and my observant friends moved back to their homelands."

"I'm afraid I can't ... risk that."

"Seems so," says Tom neutrally. "Guess that rules out calling the other bakeries; if I change our orders on short notice, they'll want to know why..." He twigs to Adrien's glum air. "Tell you what, I can't promise you kosher, at least not tonight, but I do know where we can get someone Jewish to make the bread!"

"You can?"

"Sure! You can make it."

Marinette and Adrien freeze on the spot, above and below a grinning Tom. 

"I don't really know... how, Monsie— Tom."

"Papa!" she hisses. What is going on?

Foomph! The flour sack lands at their front door. "I already have dough proofing downstairs. Oil up some pans, Marinette. Scratch that: show Adrien how. Son, you said you have an hour before sundown and an hour after? Plenty of time! Wash up, and we'll show you!" says Tom jovially. The kids stare at each other as he bounds down the stairs.

"Huh... what?" Marinette babbles.

"You don't have to..."

"Sabine said I can be spared, for this. Got to listen to the ladies of the house!" Tom winks over his shoulder.

"I don't even have a menorah!" Adrien says, half to himself. 

Tom hears that. "Well, you've come to the right place! If there's one thing we've got, it's olive oil!" he calls up with a wink. "Now, hurry! And leave the condensed milk in the pantry, remember!"

A menorah? Vague memories of conversations with Nathaniel float up. She turns to Adrien, who is pinking up. "You need... a menorah?"

"A hanoukkia. For Hanouccah," he murmurs shyly.

Marinette steels herself. Her mind begins to calculate. "Sunset is fifty-three after the hour." She's memorized those tables from tracking nighttime akuma. "Let's move."

"I don't know how to thank you and your famil— Marinette!" Adrien exclaims, as she lugs the flour under her arm, eggs under her chin, and unlocks the apartment. "Let me help you... uh... wow." Adrien follows her inside.

Lugging flour sacks for her grandfather did her some good. She drops it by the counter, and gingerly tries not to break any eggs. Adrien moves in to unburden her of the load. Through her heating face, she says, "Okay. What's this about a menorah?"

* 

Marinette bursts into her room. "Tikki! Where are the oil candles! The lotus ones!" 

Tikki swirls up. "Next to your satin bolts, Marinette. Are you really going to make him a menorah in thirty minutes?" 

A frisson of panic runs through her. "Fire up the internet, Tikki. We're going to find out." With a giggle, her kwami flies over to hit the hotkey they set so she could watch nature videos.

Marinette counts up the candles. "...five, six, seven, eight, nine!" 

Tikki lands on one of her metal dress rulers. "You'll need this, too."

*

She stumbles down the stairs, mind whirling.

Tom is apologizing to Adrien for outing him to Marinette. "You share so many things in common, I thought she knew." He dons gloves and pours the dough onto the board. 

Adrien eyes the mass with trepidation, before straightening. "It's quite all right... Tom. I trust Marinette."

"Yeek!" This time Marinette grabs the box before it can spill all over. "Where... Which spot is best?"

"Take the curtains down and move the floor lamp over," Tom directs. "This way it'll be in front of our doorway and visible from the window."

"Got it! As long as I don't trip right into the candles and burn down the living room," she mutters to herself. She catches Tikki's faint titter. 

Tom either hears that too, or knows his daughter well. He snaps his gloves off (leaving Adrien wrist-deep in wet dough). "I'll angle the couch. We need room to admire the lights, after all!" 

Marinette sets to taking down the curtains. "You don't mind people seeing right into our floor?"

"Yeah, it's really not a big deal," Adrien begins.

"Nonsense!" Tom booms, lifting and pivoting the couch. "Who's going to look inside? Ladybug and Chat Noir? They know the layout very well by now. I suppose one of those flying akuma can see in, but they don't remember anything after being defeated. Unless you have something against pigeons watching you eat and play video games?"

To that, they have no reply.

*

Adrien is trying not to fail at kneading bread. Dough. He's kneading dough, and glancing at the complicated-looking braid drawn under the non-stick paper beside him. Sulfurized paper? Not even the amazing bread puns can distract the butterflies in his stomach. Tom said he'd be right back. He kind of wants to ask Marinette; she can probably do braids in her sleep, much less braid bread. Dough. Except Marinette is by the bookcase in the newly formed hanoukkia nook, eyeing up a line of glass flowers with a ruler that's taller than she is.

That's okay. Marinette is in her super intense Design Mode. And if he's honest, he kind of wants to dough it himself.

"Closer, closer... there! Totally even! Except if they get knocked over. I could throw an elbow reaching for a book or Manon starts running around or there _could_ be an akuma outside the window..." she chews her lip. "Putty! Oh, I have multicolored putty."

"Couldn't we use a candelabra?" Adrien says without thinking. Design Mode is cute, but he feels like Marinete's stressing over this.

Marinette doubles back on the way to the stairs up to her room. "Can't! All the ones in the house are uneven. They have to be the same height except for the," she pauses and consults her phone, "shamash. The helper candle! Oh, I have to find a stand for that." Her brows draw together and she pouts. "I'm sorry it's not a real menorah. Er, hanoukkia."

Adrien gapes a little. "You wouldn't really have one on hand, do you?" Are households supposed to have spares?

"Nathaniel does!" Marinette tells him. "He has an emergency menorah, this time of year. I'd call him but I guess you don't..." She trails off. "You could talk to him, tomorrow! It's just that he and Marc are meeting the parents, and Marc might even go to the synagogue..." She trails off again, like she's scared to upset him. Adrien doesn't know enough to be upset, except he's not sure how to explain that to her. Homeschooling and parental blocks means he's been left out of everything in the first place. Marinette tries to recover, or at least ramble on, "I guess we wouldn't, huh? I was just thinking back to my beading phase, when I was really, really into it—I carried around three kinds of prayer beads in my purse. I stowed those away, eventually."

Not completely, if their lucky charms are any sign. Adrien smiles fondly. "That's you, always prepared. You never know what might happen!"

She flushes, tapping her pointer fingers. "Yeah, that was before all the akuma. Well, now I feel bad for not having a spare menorah!" she says, but she's joking. "Nathaniel said you could use birthday candles if you were really pressed. But little Manon licked the twisty ones, and Kim ate the beeswax ones—"

"He ate them?"

"I don't think those would qualify for menorahs. It says here you should get the biggest fanciest one!" She glances at her perfect alignment of lights. Dusk is already sweeping through the streets. "Oh! Putty! Be back! Adrien, don't over-knead it! Roll it out in ropes," she says halfway up. She makes a rolling motion in the air, and nearly falls down the stairs. "Like baguette length! I'll come back and help!"

In her wake, Adrien stares at the dough in horror. Has he messed up the bread? They haven't even put it in the oven. Was he going to mess up everything before the sun even set? 

"Plagg, she's right! I should've bought a really nice menorah. Why didn't I think of that?"

From the rafters, Plagg murmurs, "And you'd fit a big expensive menorah in your bag, how? By removing the cheese? Your father's staff track your spending, remember? All those webpages Pigtail's reading would've been flagged instantly. You didn't come here empty-handed by accident." He muttered something else beyond the human range.

"Thanks for staying out of sight," Adrien says, trying to take the encouragement to heart. His kwami of Destruction insisted he'd stay away from the festivities, because if anything in the room qualified as tainting the proceedings, it was Plagg. He was being oddly supportive. "You're being oddly supportive."

"In the interest of getting you invited here for the next few nights," said Plagg, eyes gleaming. "If the bakers go all out, if I recall this particular festival...there is going to be _so much cheese_."

Adrien sputters. 

"I'm here, I'm back!" Marinette announces. She slams down several blocks of rainbow putty. "What kind of motif do you like?"

"Roses," Adrien says automatically. "Oh, wait, if that's too complicated..."

"Roses! No problem." She smiles reassuringly. "Really, they're easy." With that she starts shaping the putty, while Adrien starts to shape the dough.

*

Tom returns with cans of olive oil (Adrien didn't know they came in petrol sizes!) and shows them how to start the braid, and then after a flurry of looks between father and daughter, leaves them to it. Or, Marinette supervises while Adrien does the braiding. Apparently he needed more flour on his hands, not less. Though Marinette does stop him from tasting the flour. 

She keeps busy, of course, stringing beads on a stiff coil of wire. And failing to hide her extreme curiosity. 

"My grandmother fled Poland in the war," Adrien is saying. He's trying to tip the finished braid into the pan. This was kind of fun, now that he had a handle on it. He's really proud of his twisty bread, even if he can't say its name correctly. Apparently rising and falling tones hadn't prepared him for challah.

"Oven mitts," Marinette reminds. Then flushes as she catches herself bossing Adrien around. 

"Right. My mom taught me a few things, or tried to... but Father always wanted us to seem more... mainstream." He and Marinette share a look. 'For the brand' is understood.

Quickly she shifts the subject. "So does that mean your aunt...?"

"She doesn't practice. Observe? But Félix does!"

Marinette shudders. "Eugh. Félix."

Adrien doesn't blame her. "He's been strange since his father passed away. We weren't really allowed to ... exchange notes. But last I heard, Aunt Amelie doesn't mind if he observes. I'm just not sure if he does anymore."

"We could ask?"

Once again she surprises him. "You don't like him, yet you think I should call?"

Marinette flounders. "I, well, he's family? And," she twiddles a row of beads, "Most of what I know about Judaism is from Nathaniel, and Papa along with every other bakery in Paris is—"

"Busy. It's the holidays." They could be doing this all wrong. They may not have anyone else to ask. And contacting Félix does have the advantage of ruling out any reports back to his Uncle Gabriel.

"You deserve a perfect Hanouccah," she says softly. "It's your first one."

He should've had a bar mitzvah by now. He hopes he's not too late.

Then Marinette coos at his loaves of bread, and tells him to smell it as it cooks. Bakes? And Adrien takes in the warm atmosphere of yeast and flour and oil, and his bitterness dissipates.

*

"It's not much," she says.

Adrien is in awe. "Marinette, it's amazing!"

They have quite the time trying to fill the little glass lamp. Now that the glass lotus is stuck to its 2D putty sculpture of a rose—which Marinette also apologizes for, except it's so cool: flowers on flowers!—and out comes the ruler to place the holder for the shamash.

"Next time I'll use a laser level," Marinette promises, but Adrien is blown away again. A soapstone latticed column has been wrapped in the beaded wire she'd been preparing.

Sabine, up from the bakery, assures him that the soapstone is a souvenir gift. "It's of no spiritual significance, but it is pretty and it's handcrafted."

"It's past sundown," Marinette adds urgently. 

"I'm here! Just washing my hands," says Tom, switching off the lamp and rounding them out at Adrien's back. "Go on, son."

Suddenly nervous, Adrien lights the helper candle. As he anticipated, the light catches on the glass beads. It's beautiful. He hopes his mom can see this. (Later he'll realize Marinette is taking video of the whole thing. He'll never be so grateful she picked up some tricks from Alya.)

They don't know if they're supposed to say something, or make a sign. But there are nine candles and eight nights, and Adrien can't help feeling like the first kindling is a little bit miraculous.

*

"You won't believe what I found in the walk-in!" Tom declares. 

"What is it?" says Sabine.

Adrien is still dazed that he made bread. One of the strands is a little bigger than the others, and less browned; it all tastes delicious. The bakers who've taken him in this evening all seem to think so, too. He's hardly adjusting to people talking around the dinner table. In fact they aren't at the cozy kitchen island. They're on the couch, close to the lights. They're allowed to eat on the couch! Carefully he corrals his crumbs on his napkin.

Tom presents a package with a flourish. "Kosher beef franks! Not to be confused with French hot dogs." He winks.

Marinette is enough of a baker to wrinkle her nose at packaged food. However, she's outvoted.

"That's wonderful! We have to get back downstairs, I'm afraid," Sabine smiles at Adrien, "In the meantime, Marinette, you know where the puff pastry is!"

She nearly objects, how can that be special and outstanding enough for Adrien? When the boy himself says, "Remember when we had those super hot dogs in New York!" 

"Yeah, great, perfect. Um, they'll be done in a few minutes, no problem—"

"Fancy them up with an egg wash!" Tom suggests. 

Adrien brightens. "Oh, like we did with the bread!"

Okay, so they're doing this. 

Adrien nearly burns his tongue eating hot dog roll-ups out of the oven. They eat standing up, which is even more mind-blowing.

His time runs out before the flames do. Which is fitting, he supposes. Though full and satisfied, he's having second thoughts. "Marinette, do you think I did it wrong? I'm missing so many steps. Like, am I supposed to do something... holy?"

She gathers herself, which takes some time. He waits. "Adrien, you're literally defying all your rules just to light a few candles. That's special in my books." Still, she grouses, "I wish we could have gotten you a better menorah."

Adrien grasps her arms, which makes her squeak. "That's it! Marinette, may I commission you?"

"For a menorah?! A real one?"

He wants to dispute that this one was real. "What you came up with was so cool! I liked all the glass, and the beads were gorgeous in the light! Come on, please?"

"Urk, I, um..."

"Though please don't overtax yourself on my account. You need to sleep," he barrels on over her suddenly reddening face. "I'll even help! I can sneak over for lunch."

"Are you sure? It won't be that special," said Marinette dubiously.

He just stares at her. "It'll be a Marinette original. Of course it'll be fantastic. It doesn't have to be too big. We'll get it done before sundown for sure!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrien's names refer to the name-day tradition, which is so very Catholic to me (and Orthodox) that I wonder why they can't incorporate oher kids' religious backgrounds oh wait we know why.
> 
> Papier sulfurisé, or even papier tartines, is parchment paper in France. Apparently it's only parchment paper in Quebec, which tells the whole story really. Tom laid it out because he wasn't sure what all had been on their silicone mats, boards, etc. It's only an attempt at kosher.
> 
> Le Marais, besides being the historic Jewish quarter, is also a gathering for the Chinese community and the LGBTQ+ community. It is also home to the oldest umbrella repair shop in Paris. Ladybug and Chat Noir may never leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels! Light! A touch of identity square, but then there's that holiday Friendship Glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kids are muddling through more not-quite there traditions. These hotdogs are not meant to to perfect. (The opening night blessing in particular is some fudging that I really should've consulted on, for one.) Please let me know if any of it is patently disrespectful, and needs to be changed. 
> 
> It's not Shabbat in this story, but it is here! Shabbat Shalom, happy Hanukkah! 
> 
> I may come back and fatten up the lighting scene, but these are already so many words ahhh. I may take a day off as prescribed, heh /still gentile

Adrien has his share of secrets. He's gotten away with a lot of sneaking around. For the first time the sense of accomplishment overrides the thrill. 

Marinette looks harried dashing into the classroom as usual, but she gives him a nod, and he understands that all's well. 

They can't do much more in a classroom full of people whose parents have connections to his father. Marinette stammers through a hasty explanation that Alya will be on her case, though what for Adrien's unsure; anyway they can't pass notes or chat about it. 

It occurs to him that she's taking a risk, somehow. He feels guilty, then sad, then with a sudden fire—determined. Shouldn't he risk more, too? He's gotten this far. He won't go halfway. He spots Nathaniel's headcovering as he doodles away in the back, and aches for it. For what, he's not sure. His mom? His duty? His place? Adrien already belongs to several things that are bigger than he is. Imagining the Kurtzberg family teaching Nathaniel their traditions—it dawns on Adrien that this is also a heritage. 

"Dude," Adrien says to Nino. "Could you make my excuses? I'm going to Marinette's for lunch."

Nino looks inordinately stunned by this. "You are?"

"You can't tell anyone," Adrien leans in. Nino stifles a gasp? "She's making a menorah."

Nino is sometimes slow to the uptake when it comes to schemes. He's just a forthright soul. But this time, for whatever reason, he gets it instantly. "Duuuuude. Congratulations."

Adrien's heart swells. He has the greatest friends. "Thanks, bro."

"This low-key?"

"Very," he admits.

"Do you have any other stuff?"

"No. It'll all have to stay at the Dupain-Cheng's."

"Oh, dude, this is huge." Then Nino looks perplexed. "Adrien, do you have a..." he gestures to his head. "Not a kufi, a, a, kippah?"

Adrien's smile becomes fixed. "I... no."

Marinette appears at the door, dancing on her toes and darting glances around.

Nino's face hardens. With a sobriety Adrien rarely witnesses from him, he presses an object to his chest. "Take it."

Marinette gasps.

Nino took his hat off! 

He wants him to have it? Adrien can't believe it. "But, Nino..."

"Take it, bro." He comes in for the hug, and whispers, "If you can't get one elsewhere, Marine's going to crochet one for you."

Oh. They didn't want that. Marinette was already overwhelmed.

"Joyeuse Hanouccah," Nino tells him. He pounds his back and then pulls away to look him over. It's bizarre that his head is bare. "I'm proud of you, dude."

"Thank you," says Adrien, choked up. "I'll keep it safe, I promise."

Nino finger-guns it. "I know you will."

Adrien walks side-by-side with Marinette, who looks as stunned as he feels. He's a little too close, yet he feels like he'll fall over if he's not brushing elbows with her. 

"Nino's amazing," Marinette says as they wait for the traffic light. 

"He really is," Adrien says, clutching the hat closer.

"Y-you brought him out, you know," she says. "He used to sit in the back not talking to anyone. If, if not for you and Alya, I would've volunteered to sit up front with him, but we're not super-close like that. Your friendship means a lot to him."

As though Adrien could be any more overwhelmed. It's from modeling muscle memory that he doesn't stumble across the street with blurry eyes. 

Adrien has done his share, plus much too much more of making an impact on the people of Paris. 

This feels bigger than that.

Marinette is grumbling, "I should have remembered the hat, it's not like I don't have your measure—"

Oh, she really was going to start crocheting. Who knew what was in her purse, she might start on the spot. Hastily Adrien says, "Your friendship means a lot to me too, Marinette."

Her face transforms into an unreadable expression, pink blush rising, when they get to the bakery door and find Tom Dupain trying to hide something behind his back. 

"Is it lunchtime already!" Tom says. "Ehehehe."

The kids stare. "Dad..." says Marinette.

Sabine pops up from behind the counter, and distracts her daughter with a box of goodies. Deftly allowing Tom to escape interrogation—Sabine winks at Adrien, who laughs. They make an amazing team. He's almost envious. "We made a deal with M. Trigano. We're carrying his soufganiya till New Year's. French New Year's," she clarifies. "It's your job to test them out!"

"It would be our honor," says Adrien gallantly. Marinette giggles, clutching the box.

They're interrupted by a flurry of customers, clad in reds and greens and silvers, picking up their Christmas orders. All open faces and full of cheer, like his mom used to get, and with a weird wrench inside him he sneaks off to complete another tradition.

Marinette seems to sense his shift in mood. "You can celebrate both if you want," she says at their doorway.

"You think?" Adrien hears the hope in his own voice.

"Did you say your mom liked it? I mean, er," Marinette fumbles her words.

"You're right," Adrien tells her. "Maybe it wasn't one or the other. I wouldn't know unless I asked."

The putty roses are still stuck where they left them, though the lotus candles are gone. He assumes they'll be using them for the hanoukkia. The continuity is comforting. 

They stop to wash their hands. Her parents have left even more food for lunch. More of the beef roll-ups, now sprinkled with sesame seeds; what looks like vegetable tempura; and skewers of plump olives. Adrien's mouth is watering and his heart is full. Marinette clatters up to her lofty room, clearly trying to raise his spirits. He's not down, really; when he makes to help her with carrying stuff, he realizes he's still clutching Nino's hat.

"It feels weird having you help with your own commission. That's weird, isn't it?" Marinette fusses with several boxes.

"Think of it as paying for the experience. What, Jagged Stone never stuck his nose in?"

The compliment flies over her head. "He does, a lot, but almost never when I'm actually making... I bet Penny puts her foot down... aha!" 

"I'm not going to interrupt your creative process, am I?" Adrien peers at what looks like a mess of wires. Then he realizes what it is. "Marinette, we can't use that, can we?"

She freezes. "Why not? Is there something wrong? It's one of those twisted wire trees. Maman said it was okay."

"No, I mean, isn't that... It looks too nice to use." He feels like he's grabbing one of the mansion's vases and surfing down the staircase. The copper wire twists into a gnarled trunk, and separates into several branches, some of which with little colorful chips hanging from the ends.

"Pffft! That's a souvenir. It's not a real wish tree," Marinette assures. She settles on the floor, and he follows. "The rock base is real, but the rest of it is plastic. See?" Sure enough, the chips are plastic beads, not the semi-precious pebbles and coins. "Maman turned it up this morning. She would never put this out for feng shui. It's only significant as an in-joke with her and her cousins. The wire is real, though! It's already separated out."

"If you're sure." Reassured, Adrien claps his hands. "Okay, where do I start?"

Marinette gives him a fond smile. "Put your gloves on, please." She shows him the wires they've separated out and set aside. "Okay, I'll take off the rest of the plastic, and you start beading. Sort them out by size, put the biggest beads on first. Adrien, are you eating off your plate?!"

Adrien stills, his mouth half-open over his plate at table level. He has his gloves on! The tempura is right there!

She covers both her eyes. "I swear, why are all the boys I know like cats..." She shakes off some olives from a skewer and hands it to him. "Here's a claw. Sheesh."

He just grins at her. She covers her eyes again. Obligingly he spears his veggies like a real boy. "Mmm. Now I know why Kim ate the candles. Everything in your house is delicious."

She flushes. Then her eyes narrow. "Wait," she says, and again he freezes like Ladybug told him to play statue. Marinette scoops the hat from his lap, and, flushing more, pops it on his head. "No, now you look like you're running from your fan-girls." She reverses the hat so the brim is over his nape. "Is that too tight? What if you get hat hair?"

Adrien considers it. Momentarily stymied that he has to hide a hat-band mark on his hair. "You know what? If I get yelled at, it'll be for wearing my friend's hat, not anything else. It won't be too much trouble. It's not like I'll walk out on the street concealing the trademark coif."

"'Coif.' Are you really trademarked?" Marinette looks a bit alarmed.

Adrien shrugs. "I wouldn't be surprised." 

Marinette takes out her discontent on the wire soon-to-be-lamp tree. "Should've thought of your hat," she pouts.

"You've got better things to do than be my milliner, Marinette. Even if you are award-winning." 

That compliment hits. Haltingly she reveals that she's memorized his exact head size. He makes some big headed puns. She nearly hits him with the reappearing meter stick. 

There is a dicey moment when she actually produces a laser level from somewhere. Though he's not in the room, Plagg is surely laughing his butt off as Adrien fights his chase instinct.

He's not sure of his technique, besides sorting by size. Surely the colors are supposed to coordinate? 

"It's your personal menorah," Marinette tells him. "Do what feels right."

Adrien's almost never sure what he's doing. Yet something in the way she says it feels like a guidance. Less blind impulse, and more like... listening. For what, he's not sure. 

He trusts his hands to pick the beads. 

It does feel right.

"Did you like your lucky charm?" he asks suddenly.

"I lo—" Marinette stops herself. Then shakes her head, twin tails flying, and looks him in the eye. "I love it. It's one of my favorite things. I always have it with me, even if I can't wear it all the time."

"Wow." That compliment hits like a burst of light. "I'm glad."

Her smile turns small and sweet. "Me too."

*

She banishes him to eat the jelly donuts—soufganiya, soufganiya, soufganiya, he recites the name in his head—while she finishes a column. These were the former branches, and now there are eight of them topped with a nest for the lotus candles. The shamash will sit on what was the trunk. 

The donuts are so good. He's excited to come back this evening. He tried to call Félix, and made an appointment with him instead, but the Dupain-Chengs are so hospitable and warm, and his menorah already looks amazing. He wipes his fingers, and realizes the donuts are all iced: no impalpable sugar, which gets everywhere and would've been a dead giveaway on his black shirt. Hospitable and thoughtful. He wants to give them a bouquet of roses.

Then Marinette shows him a finished column.

This time the beaded wire looks like it's braided, though Adrien knows there was only one strand. The biggest beads form a solid base. The middle ones are studded along a hidden coil twisting up and then down, and the smallest ones form a scintillating background.

"Wow," is all he can say.

She bites her lip against her smile. "Let me show you how to wrap the others. The trick is the turn on the top loop, and once you get that... voilà."

It looks daunting, but he does get it down in no time. Which they don't have. Marinette starts working on the centerpiece with three strands of beads. And Adrien keeps stopping to watch her. He didn't think those beads went together at all. Now they're slowly curling up the trunk in some harmonious weave like magical glass. And he should know. "I was right," he tells her. "This is the best menorah I could've gotten."

"Oh come on. Not even ... uhm, there are those silver ones?"

Adrien shakes his head. "When the light hits it, it's going to glow." He nudges her as he twists into the loop. "And hey, this is like braiding the bread. It's my challah menorah!" As she giggles, he says, "See, it commemorates my first night of Hanouccah. It's perfect."

*

They have two and half holders to go, which is doable before sundown. Then Marinette sits up and utters a panicked squeal. "Oh no! I forgot to talk to Nath!"

Adrien frowns. "I forgot, too."

Marinette shoots a quick text. Adrien almost follows suit, before remembering. 

When they get back to school, they find that Nathaniel has left early. Marc left even earlier than he did, said to be picking up family at the train station. Probably for their holiday celebrations. 

Adrien doesn't know what Nino told Alya, but Marinette doesn't have to curb her best friend's exuberance as much as he'd feared. They have tests, anyway, and every free moment most everyone is bubbling about their holiday plans. 

They all know not to ask Adrien; it's well-known that his father will keep him in. Or try to.

Unfortunately those same tests means he can't check his phone. They're flying blind again.

But he has something to look forward to. Nino trades his hat for an old mp3 player. "You can have it back tonight."

"You're coming?"

"Heck yeah! I mean, yeah, dude! Even got out of babysitting." He gestures at the player. "I hopped over to Max's secure server, and got you some of the songs." That means it's not networked. A really old mp3 player. Then he bends in to whisper, "And the prayers over the candles, in Hebrew."

"There were—!" Prayers. He didn't do the prayers!

"Chill, bro. This last one is for the first night only—"

"I missed that too?" 

"The dude might be saying it's for the first lighting of the menorah. And since you just made a new one..." 

"Nino, I don't know if that's how it works!" There was some kind of grand opening blessing! 

His friend claps his shoulder. "You'll be fine. It's a celebration of a miracle. You won't be sent to your room or whatever."

If Adrien were wearing his ears, they'd be drooping. He looks down at the player before stashing it, trusting Plagg to keep a wide berth, and realizes he's being silly. "Nino. Bro, thank you."

"It's cool, man. Anything I can do." He shrugs. "People think getting kicked for believing doesn't happen anymore, when it totally happens all the time. You're not the only one, my dude."

*

Marinette promises she won't crochet or knit or build any hats. She does fish out some berets for the boys. Adrien goes on wearing Nino's hat. He looks like one of Alix's skater buddies, but he insists. It's too special not to. There is a minor skirmish as Tom tries to pin his beret on, with Sabine laughing that hairpins don't work that way. The room smells like frying oil, an atmosphere that would've had everyone in Adrien's household steering him away. Tom says Marinette's not allowed to fry anything, which elicits a good-natured battle of words which is only prevented from escalating because she's putting the finishing touches on the beadwork. (Adrien? Is in awe.)

There's even more food this time. Now there are platters of donuts, and challah from the Jewish bakery; a big bowl of olive tapenade to go with more vegetable tempura; chickpeas with fried onion to go with the whole olives. Adrien does wonder where the cheese is, but he'll have to placate Plagg instead of offending his hosts. Sabine does apologize that they couldn't make latkes, but he can see they simply don't have time. The holiday rush has hit the bakery and they have to go downstairs. He thanks them as much as he can. He'll have to ask what a latke is, later.

Marinette finally pronounces the menorah done. While she and Adrien bicker over payment, yes, he has to pay her, it's a commission, Marinette, he notices a single glasswork rose on a top loop right under the central lotus. The refraction of the glass and oil blooms it into a subtle mass of petals. They share a poignant look; she doesn't say anything, so he doesn't either. 

Nino gushes over the finished work, and says he wants to light the second candle.

They spend almost all the minutes leading up to sundown trying to figure out which direction to light. To Adrien's relief, they got it right the first night. He's not sure how much more he can mess up. He's almost afraid to ask Nathaniel. He's definitely not asking Félix. They eventually work out that they place the candles going in one direction, then light the newest candle first, lighting in the opposite direction. Marinette, cross-eyed and callused from beading all day, groans as the boys laugh.

Adrien's second night of Hanouccah begins between two of his closest friends, with Nino holding up a portable speaker he rigged up from somewhere to play a recording of the Hebrew blessings, and Marinette taking discreet pictures on her own phone. Adrien hands the flickering shamash to Nino, and hugs the speaker to his chest as a sweet voice sings unfamiliar syllables. Automatically he memorizes the tune. 

He wonders if his mom sang these songs. If she learned Hebrew at all. Sometimes the sounds feel familiar, and sometimes they sound totally alien. 

She did love the holidays. She just didn't show him this one. 

It's still closer to her than he's been in a long time. 

As the oil light burns and the dozens of glass beads shimmer, Adrien decides the menorah _is_ magnificent. 

Sharing this with his friends is even better than that.

*

He slips out through the back door, but he passes in front of the bakery windows on the way to the car.

And he nearly stops in the middle of the street.

In the window across from the croquembouche Christmas tree, and beside the cutouts of Ladybug and Chat Noir, is a big electric menorah. He doesn't know how they managed to get it past them. It's got to come up to Marinette's chin. 

He tries not to stare at the two flickering lights where anyone can see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabine needed to clarify she mean the Gregorian calendar, because standing there those characters refer to three different calendar systems.
> 
> /more outside links/  
> It's a smaller one of these  
> suyins-beifussy.tumblr.com/post/632872640510574592/yooooooooo
> 
> TIL one of the many names for powdered sugar in French is sucre impalpable: insubstantial, unable to be touched. It's like sugar which has transcended tangibility. Wow.
> 
> Small French lesson:  
> frenchhour.com/blog/happy-hanukkah-todays-french/
> 
> While we're all interfaith and stuff, a kufi is the brimless hat used by Muslims in lots of the world, including North Africa. Honestly I'm going on memory, I think that's what's traditionally worn in Algeria.
> 
> en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sufganiyah  
> fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soufganiya  
> In actual France, apparently the place to go for sufganiyot is Boulangerie Murciano. 
> 
> There have been multiple waves of Jewish immigration throughout France's history. Cribbed a surname from this opinion (not reviewed, I guess?) article:  
> forward.com/opinion/409879/who-are-the-jews-of-france-their-last-names-give-a-clue/  
> which then led me here:  
> www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/trigano-shmuel  
> Guess his relatives run a bakery now!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folx. Got slammed. As a consolation: ruby-white-rabbit.tumblr.com/post/637233610095722496/happy-hanukkah
> 
> Now: nothing goes as planned. 
> 
> (This is a Mild Angst with a Happy Ending night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: everyone decides Adrien needs hugs.
> 
> Nathaniel uses the Southern German word for grandpa, which is highly context dependent! Use cautiously.  
> Since they're not appearing, the transliterations are: Hebrew: saba, Yiddish: zayde  
> There's another term I definitely won't be delving into, but which may describe Adrien's situation: Tinok shenishba  
> Again, am not an expert
> 
> /outside links/  
> www.jewishwikipedia.info/caribbean.html  
> Martinique: www.jewishwikipedia.info/martinique.html  
> Suriname: www.timesofisrael.com/70-years-after-the-holocaust-a-surinamese-memorial-for-caribbean-victims/
> 
> Sadly must add CW of yet more adults possibly (read: most likely) antisemitic. They do not appear!!!
> 
> Relatedly, see note on Félix. Reserve judgment... Also he sounds like he's delivering plot, but there's no plot either. I could blame someone for this! ;)
> 
> ma noisette = my hazelnut
> 
> My headcanon is that Nathaniel is slightly intimidated by Adrien, not because of his reputation or anything else, but because Adrien has this tendency to get into people's personal space? A tad? Nathaniel is like a dog person who wants to be a cat person. Anyway, he's a bit nervous at first, and his holiday is also full of (positive) stress. 
> 
> Actually everybody's stressed.

Nothing was going right this morning. 

There was the pre-dawn akuma. Ladybug was always grumpy for those. It was no catastrophe, but by the last string of incessantly blinking lights, both superheroes were tired and grouchy.

Then there was the photo-shoot. Adrien wasn't entirely sure how that had gone. He was hoping for half-lidded mysterious, and not falling asleep in his spaghetti.

He counts the minutes to when he can unlock the secure drop-box to see what Félix has said. As he exits the car, like a bolt of lightning it hits him. He turns around. "Nathalie!" 

He's not sure if he nearly takes his foot off, or if he's about to face-plant on the car roof, or if he's not raised his voice to Nathalie in ages. Whatever it is, both she and Gorilla are shocked. 

"...yes, Adrien?"

He's leaning over the seat like a fool. "Right. Uh, could you reschedule the decorating for Thursday?"

Instead of Friday.

"I will inform your father of this request," Nathalie says. Not that his father will show up anyway; just putting the decorations up was this autumn's meager victory. 

The turn-around was suspicious all by itself.

"I'm sorry, It's, I," Adrien has to think of something. Anything other than he's secretly celebrating Hanoucca at his friend's house. "Kagami! Wishes for... extra practice. On Friday."

"That seems inconsiderate of Mlle. Tsurugi."

"It's not her fault! It. It can't be helped. It's closer to the tournament. Friday is closer than Thursday so it will be fresher in her memory—"

"Very well, Adrien," says Nathalie. Sharp; her version of pitying. "I'll pass it on."

"You could go home early, too," Adrien offers. Since it'll be Nathalie helping with the lights when his father inevitably fails to show up.

"Unlikely," mutters Nathalie. Too far? She softens a tad. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"Yes, of course, bye!"

Adrien rushes up the steps, hurriedly texting Kagami. They recently discovered how often their parents talked to each other. Which, given their respective parents, they'd both deemed a little creepy.

He's in the middle of reading Kagami's detailed instructions as to what 'happened' during their one-on-one fencing bouts when he stumbles around again. "Max! Kim! Have you seen Nathaniel?"

"What for?" Kim says automatically. Max adjusts his glasses.

"Uhhh," Adrien says. What is wrong with him today? He blurts out, "It's a secret!" 

"Oooh, is it a commission?" Kim leans in. "Is for Marinette?"

Adrien's bewildered look is mostly from sleep deprivation, but something must be wrong when Max's brows fly up and he doesn't have a percentage calculated. Or maybe he does? "It's, no, it has nothing to do with Marinette. Why would it...?" What if the bakery is closed! What if they had to fumigate? Or Ladybug's cure didn't work and the chimney's sprouted Christmas lights and they ate his menorah? Adrien gets out, "Is she okay? She's not here already, is she?" 

That last one is the real stretch.

"The chances of Marinette showing up before the bell on an exam day—"

Fortunately Kim takes pity on him. "Under the stairs. Where he always is."

"Oh. Yeah. Thank you..."

"You need a protein bar," Kim tells him.

He finds Nathaniel with a sketchpad over a textbook. In his current state, it takes Adrien three minutes to even explain it to him. Every time someone passes, he feels compelled to halt.

"Oh!" Nathaniel, who doesn't go in for hugs, not even with Marc in school (Adrien's seen them sharing a single bench in the Louvre), suddenly jumps up and goes for one very awkward embrace. Was he that much shorter than Adrien? Or was Adrien just too... Adrien ducks down, his face flaming. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have drawn attention to you. I'm so glad you're joining us!"

"I'm not really doing much," Adrien mumbles. The good news is any rumors coming of this will be unlikely to be about their Jewishness. The bad news is the rumors that do come of this will be lingering through holiday break and beyond, and they're going to be hard to shake. Especially if he can get Nathaniel to—

"I can't come tonight," Nathaniel whispers. "My Opa came all the way from Bavaria and..."

"Oh, it's okay," Adrien says. "You should spend time with your family."

Nathaniel blinks at him. In his rust-red hair he has bright blue ... hair clips? securing his kippah. Adrien is suddenly very aware of how bare his head is. "Are you celebrating at Marinette's?"

"How did you...?"

At this, Naël grins. He nods towards the menorah in the bakery's window. "She and her parents are pretty cool."

"Yeah." Adrien rubs his neck. He fills Naël in on what they've done so far. He's shuffling his feet, which he rarely does. 

Instead of coming down on him, Naël nods. "You have a menorah? It's called a hanoukkia." 

Adrien nods hopefully. "Marinette has pictures on her phone. You can ask her. I mean, tell her I said you could. Ask her." He decides to ask about his emergency menorah later.

"As long as your oil burns for ... at least half an hour, I think? Maybe it's two hours. After dusk, or," he hurriedly adds, when Adrien stiffens up, "After sundown works too."

"We got recordings of the blessings," says Adrien. 

"Hey," Naël says quickly. "You could say it in French. I mean, I'm no rabbi..." He frowns. "I guess I can't smuggle you into my synagogue."

"No," says Adrien ruefully. He doesn't tack on the warning not to tell anybody.

For some reason, he thinks Nathaniel knows.

"Hey," he says again. They quiet as a gaggle of girls climb the stairs. Adrien recalls that Naël is quiet, usually—more pictures than words, especially when he's not akumatized—and tries to give him some space. "All eight nights is pretty great. You're busy. Um." He glances away. "I wish I could draw you a picture. But exams, and then my cousins are picking me up for lunch. Oh, does this mean Marinette's feeding you?"

"I think that's their mission in life," Adrien says.

Naël chuckles. "Yeah, that's them. Just, uh, give thanks for the food, after you wash your hands, and after you're done eating." 

"Like saying grace?"

"More or less. There's more specific stuff for different kinds of food... Adrien, you're fine. You're returning to your tribe. Your mom, I guess?"

Adrien gets a lump in his throat again. He nods. "Yes."

Naël looks away again. "Honoring your mom is important. She'd also want you to stay safe. Right?" 

"Yeah," Adrien says. He can't add anything to that. The truth covers him like candlelight, like the scent of burning oil. He suddenly wants to talk to Félix very badly.

"And, you know," Naël flashes a small smile. "Have fun? Hanoucca is about edgy rebel types... not awfully clean-cut," he jokes, relieved when Adrien also laughs, "And they throw together a lamp, and miraculously it works. There's a little superhero in them, if you ask me."

"Yeah?" 

"Sure. Like that photo from last night, of Chat Noir trying to order fries—" Adrien gulps. He almost doesn't remember doing that. Did Plagg even let him pocket his spending bills? "—all battle-weary and probably out of it, scraping stuff together, except something cool happens and they, uh, celebrate it every year. I'm explaining this badly."

"No, I get it," says Adrien fervently.

"Even the fried foods fit," Naël quips. Belatedly Adrien realizes he's just as sleep-deprived. "Light some candles, enjoy the light, fry some food. Be with people you care about, because you're in a cave but they didn't get you this time." He chuckles nervously. "That got dark."

Adrien wants to say he really, really gets it, when Madame Mendeleev clears her throat. "Get going, boys. Physics exam in five."

Naël looks sick. They hurry to catch up. Adrien feels sick that he cut into the other boy's study time. "Nathaniel, wait!" He grabs his hand and forms the right-hand rule. "Pointer is velocity. Magnetic field, Lorentz force." He closes his knuckles in a thumbs-up. "This is the wire coil. Your thumb is the magnetic field. If you can draw it, she'll give you partial credit."

"Thanks," Naël breathes. He snickers. "Don't worry, Marc won't get on your case for holding hands."

For the third time Adrien nearly stumbles. "Uh, what?"

Now Nathaniel laughs. He covers his mouth, and murmurs, "If anyone asks, _Cyborg 009 vs Devilman_ is finally dubbed. That's complicated enough to discuss for that long... um, heads up."

"It is?" Adrien asks, still feeling two steps behind, like Ladybug's just summoned another bizarre Lucky Charm, when Marinette careens into his back. 

"I'm so sorry!!!" they chorus.

* 

When he hands in his exam, Mme. Mendeleev says to Adrien, "If you would come in early tomorrow, you can sit for the biology exam. It should be no trouble for you."

For a terrible second Adrien wonders if there's a euphemism in there. Plagg keeps making fun of him... no. Not from Medeleev! "I... thank you?"

That seems to be the correct thing to say. Somehow. "Our schedules have been moved around, as you know, and your class has exams and make-up labs at the end of the day," she emphasizes the last part. "If you're finished with all your official work, you may continue independent work off school grounds." Before Adrien can ask if that needs a signature, she adds, "Don't," her eyes glitter over her glasses, "slack off on your biology work, M. Agreste. Saccharomyces cerevisiae requires serious observational skills."

What... 

Yeast?

Adrien experiences a frisson of fear: does Mendeleev know? How much did she hear at the stairs? He tries not to turn around and run.

Then, even more inexplicably, he catches her trying not to smile. 

What is going on today? "Thank you," he says, again, "I won't let you down, Professor."

"See that you don't."

*

Just before lunch, Marinette hurries to him. Instinctively he leans into her; she chokes on air for a second, then meeps, "Can we tell Alya?"

"Tell Alya what?" The girl herself bursts out. "What's been going on? You guys have been—"

Quicker than a cat's paw, Marinette whirls and nearly tackles Alya with a hand over her mouth. "This is why we didn't tell you!"

"Mm mforry...!"

"Alya! Inside voice! Or exclusive off-the-record voice!"

Nino comes up on them, and bodily shields them from prying eyes. Adrien takes up his other side. 

Gently Alya removes Marinette's hand. "Sorry. I've been babysitting my sisters nonstop, and I'm still in Big Words mode. I guess this has to do with your dad?" She says to Adrien.

"Alya!"

"Or nothing to do with him, babe," Nino says mildly.

"Oh. Oh I would never, Adrien!" Thankfully Alya does lower her voice. "I'm not in reporter mode all the time."

"Alya..." Marinette frowns, her hands on her hips. Adrien kind of squints at her.

"Promise, my lips are sealed." Alya cocks a brow. "Now, what's up?"

Adrien sighs. "Maybe let's go to Marinette's? Where we can talk?" He glances at Marinette in case he's overstepping, but she's already nodding.

They pass Nathaniel's cousins, who are piled into the backseat of a modest car. One of them pops out of the window, and yells, "Chag same'ach!"

Nathaniel is crammed in there. He waves at their group on foot, which is safe enough, and mouths the same thing even as someone yanks his cousin back into the car. 

They wave back. "Kids, right?" says Alya.

It's not until Adrien is two flights of stairs and three doors out of the street that he says to Nino: "What did that mean?"

*

They don't actually talk. 

Alya gets the message anyway, but before Adrien can really spell it out — which he's not excited about at all — Marinette takes over freaking out at her best friend. Adrien leaves them to it. He's not one to interrupt crucial girl-talk. 

Meanwhile, he can't say _Chag sameach_. He can barely spell it, not that there is a standard spelling. He can't pronounce it. He and Nino have opened a half dozen browser tabs. Adrien can speak three languages fluently! He even has a bit of German under his belt, and he can understand Dutch. He should be able to say this. Nino's trying to talk him down when Marinette exclaims at Alya, "You can't leave now! Maman left me with so much coconut...!"

"And it's not going to go bad anytime soon, trust me on this," Alya answers. "I'll be right back. The hotel isn't far!"

The boys peer over. This is interesting.

Marinette vibrates in place, clutching at Alya. "You'll come back?"

"I got you, girl! Besides. Nino can help you."

"I can?"

"Macaroons, babe."

Nino perks up. "Oh! Yeah. I'm your dude, dudette."

"If you're going to dip them in chocolate," and for some reason Marinette whimpers at this, "Wait till tonight! You do not have to do all the steps right now. Okay?"

Marinette squares her shoulders. "Okay."

"And Sunshine?" Adrien looks up. Alya winks, and finger-guns (not unlike Nino), and says, "Nice menorah."

Marinette turns away, blushing; Nino nudges her as he dries his hands. Adrien leans back and stares at the glass beads catching the slim rays of sunlight, and tries to breathe.

*

Adrien's gotten better at making the challah, so he prepares four loaves this time for baking this afternoon. Then he feels guilty for using that many ingredients, a line of thought that Marinette squashes immediately. She's doing some magic with a bowl of egg whites. He's green with envy that Nino is keeping up too. He nearly whacks Adrien before he pokes at the white peaks! His bro! 

"Nino went through a meringue phase. So we taught him how to separate the eggs," Nino demonstrates a one-handed break, smirking at Adrien. "And you can pop them in a cooling oven overnight—safer for little kids—which with our industrial ovens means fresh meringues for breakfast. For years!"

"It wasn't years," Nino protests.

"Oh no!" Marinette stops in mid-beat. "I could have made these macaroons overnight. I could have slow-baked them, they don't have any milk!"

The boys glance at the gigantic bags of coconut on the counter. "Maybe ... later, dudette?"

They change the subject to Nathaniel. Adrien doesn't want to admit that his bits of information weren't very helpful. Marinette and Nino don't look surprised. "It's not like he's secretive," says Marinette, popping the trays in, "He practices his letters in school."

"Hebrew," says Nino. "I think he goes to another school for that?"

It's a statement of some kind that _two_ schools sounds amazing to Adrien. He doesn't add anything, though. He doesn't feel... left out a lot, but suddenly it feels appropriate to let them talk about Naël in a way that didn't feel quite right while Alya was in the room. Like he can trust Nino and Marinette to protect their friends from maternelle.

Then he's halfway through the plate of fried egg rolls, and trying not to feel guilty about that, either. He has permission. He could even be obligated to eat them. It is his plate, after all; if he curls around them like a jealous cat, that's no one's business.

"Yeah, not even Chloé bothered him buuuut you might not want to..." Marinette trails off awkwardly. "It's not Chloé herself. But her mom is like... She said some things when she offered that opening in New York."

Nino says what he's thinking. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, and it's not like I'd suspect Chloé, even with her whole... Chloé-ness, but it's possible she confides in her mom more... which I kind of helped along." She grimaces.

Adrien casts for another subject change. "Félix says he'll be calling tonight!"

His friends can't stifle their groans.

*

They're talking music—Nino is trying to figure out how to port some Hanoucca tunes into the Dupain-Cheng living room without having to soundproof the entire floor— when Alya returns with less than five minutes of lunch break to spare. 

At first they think she's carrying a covered speaker. Then she whips off a cloth, and hefts up a big jug of honey.

"Does all food come in petrol cases?" Adrien says, his eyes huge.

"Join us in the food service industry, and you'll find out," Alya says with a wink.

"I just might."

Alya laughs, catching Marinette's eye, who is behind the boys. "Honey for my honeys! I'm guessing you won't be telling Chloé anytime soon ooooh oh, okay," with a quick appraisal of the room, "No Chloé then, but! One day you can thank her for this. Apparently her highness pushed through a truck-sized order of honey. Mom has been trying to get rid of it for weeks. Not even the holiday dessert spread has depleted it. So there's a lot more where that came from!"

Marinette makes a weird, half-laughing sound in her throat.

"I wouldn't have thought of this," Adrien says.

"Eh," says Alya. "A few of my neighbors were Jewish. I'd see them walking to the synagogue every Friday. We even have a kosher market!" She holds up the honey. "Mix it with some ricotta cheese, or, I dunno. Dip everything in it!"

"We could make so much honey challah... not that there's anything wrong with your challah!" Marinette says hastily. "You're really very good for a beginner. Maybe tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, definitely. Wow. Thank you, Alya," says Adrien earnestly. 

"Food is love, Sunshine," Alya says.

He moves in to hug his friend. Though Alya is mouthing something to Marinette, that doesn't stop her from returning a crushing embrace. Then she pushes him onto her bestie, who squawks, and also encloses him in a hug. "Thanks for the macaroons, Marinette," Adrien says, hoping for more hug and less meltdown. Nino gets it immediately, and moves in on the other side for the triple-hug. Alya... glares at her boyfriend for two seconds, then with a sigh joins in to the complete the circle. 

"Unfortunately, this is part apology," Alya says. "We have that thing tonight with Mme. Contard."

Nino freezes. "That's tonight?"

"Babe," Alya pulls off. "I got Anansi to babysit. It's tonight-tonight."

Nino gives off a nervous giggle. Marinette frets beside him. "Oh-h," Nino says. "I guess no speaker system."

*

Adrien isn't disappointed. Really. His friends are all coming through for him. He did remember to ask Sabine, discreetly, if he could come in early tomorrow to actually bake the bread from beginning to end. She doesn't have a lot of time to answer, boxing and wrapping Christmas cookies as fast a she can. ("Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry the potatoes haven't come in yet. It's just that we have to explain to our suppliers why the sudden order if there's no changes to the menu, and we can't...")

In the school restroom, he's washing the incriminating grease off his fingers — the egg rolls were so good ... and so were the doughnuts, also with incriminating orange syrup? peel? oil? — when Plagg pops out. 

"Please tell me we're getting more cheese than crummy ricotta!"

Adrien is now quite annoyed. Plagg goes on about how ricotta is boring, how it could only be more boring if it were mozzarella...

He tells Nino to keep his hat with him. For good luck, for Alya. 

He doesn't want to feel disappointed. Maybe he's just tired.

*

A winter wind kicks up, and Adrien really misses a hat. Ugh, Félix is going to call, and he'll be wearing a hat. He just knows it. 

Marinette sort of hovers out of range. Adrien's reassured her that she doesn't have to talk to his cousin. She is microwaving chocolate, in a glass bowl; and he would much rather watch that than hop through Max and Markov's backdoor servers in the hopes that Félix picks up.

When he does, it's both anticlimactic and deeply confusing. 

"You? Adrien-chick is _observing_?" (At least that's what he thinks he says.) "Well, it's not a vitally important part of the calendar, but I suppose—" Félix squints. "Where _are_ you?"

"I can't really say," Adrien hedges. 

Félix is quick on the uptake. Too clever, sometimes. At the moment, Adrien feels sluggish. His cousin sits back and crosses his arms. "You're hiding."

"I thought it was obvious." Adrien tries to conceal his irritation, but it's rather difficult.

"And _now_ you decide to—"

"Mom never told me, okay!" Adrien bursts out. Marinette startles, which he feels terrible about. Félix just stares harder. "I decided last week I was doing this."

"Unbelievable." It doesn't sound judgmental, for once. Félix almost sounds impressed. "Of course you would. You'll probably memorize every single rule of the brachot overnight."

He does not know what that is...! "Fé..."

"This was Gabriel's doing, wasn't it? This is why you didn't come."

To his uncle's funeral. Félix's father. "I'm sorry. I meant it when I said I'd make it up to you."

"No, you don't understand," Félix has an odd fire in his eyes. "You didn't know. You never know."

Adrien doesn't know where this is going. "Not for this? No."

"But Mum did...!" Félix leans back. "I was the one who discouraged her from visiting. She's been odd about Aunt Amelie."

"Odd?" Adrien's throat goes dry. What about his mother? He can't even be mad at Félix for keeping the Graham de Vanilys away. 

"I didn't keep track of her when your mother disappeared," Félix states baldly. "But if Gabriel was in her company, which I'd bet my safety deposit box he was, then Mum didn't..." He stops, and stares at Adrien. The look seems disconcertingly like sympathy. "There are certain rituals to be done when burying someone. Prayers which need to happen right away. Mum allowed me to do almost all of it for Father. So I know she knows how!"

Adrien feels a dampness on his brow. "But she didn't, for Mother."

"I rather doubt it," says Félix. "I had always believed they were close, for sisters."

"So did I." That was what he meant by 'odd.' "Fé, what does she think happened to Mother?"

"I would like to know that as well," he says speculatively. "I can't suss it out right away. Look, Mum doesn't have many rules, but the one she enforces is that if I'm not punctual to my... extracurriculars, then I don't get to do them at all. Unfortunately for you, sundown in London occurs at the same time as Paris—"

"I know!"

"—that means you won't have the pleasure of my company for long." Again with the pitying look. "Do you at least have a menorah?"

"Yes." Adrien turns the camera around.

"Not bad," Félix says, which for him is a massive compliment. He always had a keen eye for shiny objects. "And you know what blessings to recite when lighting?"

"We have a recording..."

"That'll do for now," he sniffs. "I'll prepare myself to weep over your pronunciation tomorrow evening." He's going to call back! Adrien tamps down a little boost of happiness. "Worry about your precious rules later. Enjoy yourself with your little goody-two-shoes friends. Eat more of the fried foods; we look too much alike."

"I'll take that," says Adrien.

"I'm serious," says Félix. "Eat till you're satiated."

"That's real?"

"Consider it my first gelt to you: a real, live rule you can obsess over." He smirks. "You don't want to seem _ungrateful_ , do you?" 

"No!"

Félix actually laughs. At him, but it's a real laugh. "Babe in the woods. Chag same'ach, Adrien."

"Uh, happy holiday."

He laughs at him again, before signing off. That's the most at ease they've been in years.

"...gah!" cries out Marinette. Adrien turns to see her fists at her side, her cheeks turning livid. "He's just so obnoxious!"

"He sounds more like himself," Adrien says. He finds that he's smiling.

"I'm sorry," Marinette says quickly. "I didn't know about his dad."

"It doesn't excuse what he did," says Adrien. Plagg stirs in his jacket. Come to think of it, Adrien's rarely spoken candidly like this about anyone. Bluntly. (Negatively.) Marinette must put him at ease. "I guess he still owes you an apology."

"As long as he's helping you," Marinette huffs.

*

Adrien thinks this might be insult upon injury when they're about to _dip cookies in molten chocolate_ when Tom rings from the bakery floor.

"Special delivery! Side door! Hush hush...!"

They bundle up (Marinette goes pale at the sight of his scarf, but there's no time to ask), and sneak through the bustling kitchen and through the cellar storage to emerge in a back alley.

Where Luka Couffaine is panting against a brick wall.

"I thought I missed it!" He heaves a steamy breath. "It's not sundown yet, is it?"

Trying to remember what he's been told, Adrien shakes his head. "We can start after."

"Great!" Luka says, and around Marinette's fussing, produces a square box.

Which has... another box inside. 

A hat box.

It's full of kippahs. 

There's a little note in Nathaniel's artist scrawl: 'For Emergencies.'

"Oh," says Marinette. "I'm going to cry."

"Me too," admits Adrien. 

"Wish I could join you," Luka says. "If... that's okay?" Adrien nods quickly, and they exchange elbow-bumps. "Can't though."

"It's okay, you're super busy."

"Is it just you two?" Luka hums, his face momentarily unreadable. "That's too bad. I know some dreidel songs." His eyes widen. "Ma-Ma-Marinette, aren't you spinning the top? A little shocked, here."

Marinette thumps him, huffily. "We're prioritizing the baked goods! He needs it. Everyone agrees."

Adrien groans, good naturedly. "Thank you for the delivery, Luka."

"Not the only one. It's a loaner, and it's not what you're used to..." He pulls out a thick ... bedroll? Marinette helps uncover the thick insulating blanket, and unfurls—

"A keyboard!" Adrien claps a hand over his exclamation. 

Luka chuckles. "I didn't think you'd be this hyped. This thing is older than the Captain."

"I've only seen these in movies!"

It's flat, so it can be played anywhere, and it's got two different adapters which lead to a USB port. 

His disappointment lifts. 

He's seen his share of miracles, but all of a sudden this one... hits home.

"Nino left a bunch of websites with sheet music!" Marinette says excitedly. If they can't pronounce the blessings, they can play them. As music. "Oh wow, Luka, this is great! Thank you!"

Adrien chokes out his gratitude, and Luka tumbles into a sweaty, shoulder-squeezing hug. He gets on his bike.

"Joyeu—!" Luka trails off abruptly. Marinette follows his gaze to spot Lt. Raincomprix making his rounds nearby. 

Adrien rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry..."

Luka smiles. "Don't worry about it. Juleka and I have been trained to _resist_ since we were toddlers."

Marinette has to ask. "What did your mom teach you to do as toddlers?"

The older boy laughs. "Stop by on an evening before a big strike, and she'll tell you. Go on, scramble. Unless you can leap all those floors in one bound..."

She says it for them. "Agh!!! Sundown!"

"Thanks again, man!" Adrien whisper-yells back. 

*

They are so spent from running up the stairs, that when Marinette curls up on the floor under the glow of the menorah, Adrien joins her. There's supposedly meats and vegetables ready to be reheated, but they have their plates of macaroons and the warm, wholesome mounds of challah, and neither of them wants to move. This is as much festivity they can muster. Well, Adrien is quietly contemplating the lights, after all. And not drifting into a cat nap. 

Her phone comes out, and Marinette takes a few more snaps of the menorah from this lower angle. The glass rose is easier to see from here. They skim through websites playing Hanoucca songs. Adrien lays at least one octave's worth of piano keys on his chest, and tries to follow along. 

Marinette folds a dreidel out of the outer box's cardboard, and is adorably frustrated that she can't get it to spin. They're looking at the Hebrew that goes on the dreidel—Adrien is thrilled that it's _wordplay_ —when Tom clatters into the apartment. 

Being right by the door, they each jump up. Marinette collides with the couch, somehow.

"Sorry we can't join you," which Adrien has heard a million times, "It's fruitcakes down there, ah, no no, ma noisette, you stay up here while the candles burn." Tom winks. "Look what arrived!"

It's a red and yellow cellophane monstrosity. A gift basket? It's as wide as Tom's chest, and crinkles somewhat ominously. 

"You really didn't have to..." Adrien blushes. 

"Oof, I'm not explaining this well. It's not a gift. I mean it is, but it's disguised as a gift," Tom's moustache wiggles. "Which means you can take it home."

"Open it!" urges Marinette.

"You can even call it a misdelivered package to the fencing school," Tom suggests. 

Adrien feels like he's taking too much time trying to get through the cellophane. It does have a cool flame theme. And it's seasonal, nothing 'objectionable' on the outside. 

Then he sees what's inside. 

"Thank you so much, Monsieur Dupain! I mean, Tom!" Adrien says very loudly, to cover the high-pitched squeal coming from his jacket at what is a jumbo gift-basket of assorted olives and a few kilos' worth of sliced, diced, cake-pressed, and whipped into a dips _cheese_.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Couffaines say ACAB. Beet dub, if you're going to look that up, I must caution that anti-police protesting is not like in most of the Americas. There are aspects which make it an ugly, shocking topic, but suffice to say not all of Europe has reached the stage of intersectionality. Relatedly, that's why so many t̴e̴r̴f̴s̴ operate out of Europe.
> 
> Once again: please take a little time to acquaint yourself with the basics of current events in Europe. I will not spell them out, partly because we are in all-out fluff fest here. But if I refer to them in-story? It is SUPER odd when someone goes all sugar-syrup on a detail which does not line up with reality. 
> 
> tl;dr If I did write this fanfic to raise awareness, and then you say you're only going to learn stuff from this fanfic—guys, ladies, themtles, that's not... awareness.  
> Links? Provided. I managed to effort.  
>  _Ask yourself why you're not doing the same_ ... but don't tell me, because that answer has already shown us what we need to know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roses.
> 
> More consolation outside links:  
> laughingfish.tumblr.com/post/189603397699  
> i-normally-dont.tumblr.com/post/637346004488847360/awellboiledicicle-reminder-for-my-non-jewish
> 
> Here's some TIL:  
> Chag HaBanot (Hebrew) | Eid Al Bnat (Judeo-Arabic)  
> www.jewishpresstampa.com/articles/jewish-women-from-north-africa-have-feminist-hanukkah-tradition/
> 
> Would like you to know that La feuille de brick is not the same as phyllo dough or eggroll wrapper —all the French pastry chefs, probably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops. I dreamt I updated, and then. I actually had not. ~_~  
> I.... promise to finish this before Tu B'Shvat? O.o
> 
> One day I will spell everyone's name right. Bear with.
> 
> I should probably clarify that even if Kagami and Adrien are dating in the adults' eyes, literally every other kid knows they are both single. I mean, the shipping is very light in here, and beside the point, but I figured someone might put the timeline together and get squicked. 
> 
> And,  
> I remember being a teenager. If there is food, there is not enough food.

Adrien sits the biology exam with no problem. Apparently in his house he gets credit for diligent studies. Or so he's told. He has a mid-morning photoshoot, which he honestly isn't sure is a make-up of yesterday, and spends it doing odd poses with trees. The lights are very pretty, he has to admit. He guesses they're using some kind of filter, given that the sun keeps peeking out, and they keep spraying water on his hair, which he quietly endures.

He tries not to think that his mom would have loved the lights. 

Maybe she still...?

However, Nathalie informs him that Thursday was on for decorations. Plagg is still besotted by the cheese basket, and only resorts to perfunctory pouting when Adren reminds him to eat person-sized portions. (As for himself, he remembered Marinette's scary-face, and dutifully spears olives with various combinations of cheeses, which certainly made it more interesting. This is the only reason he skips breakfast.) And apparently Gorilla is getting a holiday bonus, which is a little bit funny because he can't account for Adrien until an hour after sundown, but Adrien certainly thinks he deserves one. Everybody's mood has improved, that he can see. Adrien decides it's going to be a much better day.

By the time he slips into the bakery, Marinette is waiting. "They came in!"

Bemused, Adrien follows her upstairs. 

There are big burlap sacks piled beside the kitchen counter (out of sight of the windows), bigger and lumpier than the ones for flour. 

"The potatoes!" Marinette announces. "We even have some different kinds, and some yams... Maman is determined to give you latkes. She's doing both kinds, the cheese. And the potato. As you can see."

"Er," Adrien rubs his neck. "What are they, again?"

Instead of her face falling with pity, Marinette whips out her phone. "Let's see!"

Potato pancakes. Oh, wow. It dawns on him that he's going to see more fried food than he's ever seen in his life. And he won't have to only look!

They wash a bucketload of Russets—she apologizes for it being so messy, and Adrien is just amazed the food still has dirt on it. Does that mean he could just pluck it out of the ground and eat it? Which is silly, he knows how cooking _works_ , but it's different when his sleeves are rolled up and he's got a handful of slimy potato babies with eyes still on them.

By themselves they're not allowed to fry anything. Not yet. Marinette instead shows him how to peel potatoes. 

"Hold it like a... uhm..." she wrinkles her nose.

Adrien peers at her hand. "Like a tiny Pokémon egg?"

Marinette looks horrified. "Now I'll be picturing Togepi!" 

She tells him to be careful of his fingers. She goes a bit shy, again, so Adrien teases her for needing a stepstool, and she points the potato peeler like a wand. There's another setback when she realizes they didn't have to peel, really. So she whips out the box grater, which Adrien is fascinated by. He also points out that peeling the potatoes to start ought to make it easier to grate.

Marinette lends him actual knife-proof gloves, which are a little tight—apparently Marinette is accident-prone in the kitchen, too, but Adrien doesn't bring it up—and he wears one on his grating hand while Marinette sets up a bowl of water and some buckets of ice. 

He gets the hang of it; it's like a dangerous scratching-post for food. He does hope Marinette doesn't notice he's switched to his non-dominant hand, the Miraculous being on the one with which he's steadying the grater. In no time, they fall into a rhythm. Adrien is kind of stunned by how much potato they're shredding, but Marientte insists it's almost not enough. "This isn't like the coconut. When you fry things, they shrink." She looks thoughtful. "But they also puff up, if you do it right." She smiles wanly. "I'm not the expert cook in the family."

Before Adrien can gainsay this, Nino arrives ... with Marc Anciel. "Hey. Uh. Is it okay if I...? I promise I won't say anything." 

Adrien brightens. "Of course! Is Nathaniel coming?"

Marc's mouth turns down. "He and his family thought it would be too obvious. Like, I dunno if you notice..." He gestures out the window. Gorilla is in the towncar by the park. Nino spots him, and winces. "He'll sneak over later on, don't worry. In the meantime, if it's okay with you? I can play middleman."

"Are you sure? I mean, you should be spending the holiday with Naël!"

Marc waves it off. "It's a long holiday. And they're going out sightseeing with the cousins again." He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Ah," says Marinette beside him. "Too many people?"

"Even worse during the season," agrees Marc. "I don't know how he stands it."

That was super-perceptive of her, Adrien thinks. "Thank you for coming, man. I'm happy you're here."

Marc tells them the story going around is this is a study group, when in reality he'll be passing stuff between them. He and Adrien get into an excited geek-spiral over spy drop-boxes, before Marinette laughingly reminds them that chalk codes and half-opened newspapers will just get Sabrina and Chloé curious.

As for what he's brought, Marc's first delivery is a hoodie full of matzo bread. 

They have to explain to Adrien what that is. 

"You've never had matzo ball soup!" Marinette exclaims.

"Oh yeah, that stuff's good. So good," Marc nods. "It's like a warm hug."

"Well, if it's anything like your great-uncle's soup, I'm sure it'll be great," Adrien smiles.

"Ehehe, th-thanks, Adrien," she babbles. (Marc and Nino look at each other, and shrug.)

Marc apologizes that he doesn't know the prayers exactly, so Adrien does a quick, silent thank-you, and manages just barely not to lift his right hand afterwards. Just as prescient as ever, Marinette provides a bowl of honey for his first bite. It's... kind of like burnt crackers? Marinette turns away as he starts licking his fingers. "I guess I shouldn't lick stuff so much," Adrien says.

"Uh, what?"

"I licked akuma goop once," Adrien blurts out.

Marinette groans. "I forgot about that. I can't believe you..." She wipes her face, like she's trying not to laugh.

Nino isn't trying. "Dude, when was this?" He shakes his head, chuckling.

"When her great-uncle was here." 

Marc laughs a little. "Yeah, cleanliness is kind of a big thing. You're showing respect and stuff." He lifts a shoulder. "It's also good hygiene. Lots of the rules are for surviving tough times. Get used to washing your hands, that much I know."

At last Marinette pronounces them done with potatoes, for today, and pours the ice over the shredded product. "It's to keep the air out," she explains. 

"Ohhhh, otherwise it'll oxidize," says Adrien.

"Please tell me that's not in the exam," moans Nino.

"You're just a little rusty." He gets whapped for that.

Apparently the matzo is to go in the latkes. And that bit of prep involves smashing them. 

Now they're getting somewhere. They save some matzo for later—Marc assures them he can bring way more—and get to crushing the unleavened bread. Being teenagers, they manage to talk in-between smashing. The others still have to sit an exam, and Adrien tells them what to watch out for without outright cheating. He wouldn't want to squander Mme. Mendeleev's good graces. They discuss said good graces. They're fairly sure she won't say anything; she's the furthest from a gossip.

Then Marinette brings out the kippah. Turns out Marc knows how to put them on. "You can wear it under your hat," he tells Nino. "Actually, you could... like, get a bigger size? So it'll look..."

"Ohhh, like disguising it as a kufi? Sharp, dude." At Marinette's skeptical brow, "The adults have more trouble with my cap than any culture stuff."

"Ah," Marinette says. She shoots Adrien a look, and he decides to stay out of it. Other than giving his bro a back-pat, of course.

"It's easier to do it with your hair, honestly," says Marc to Nino, getting out the clips. Which leaves Marinette to pin the kippah on Adrien.

She uses the step-stool.

He does manage to make her laugh with his teasing (Nino is oddly silent instead of joining in.) Finally he sweeps a bow, and after a little squeak, Marinette places Adrien's first kippah. 

"You and my hats," Adrien says. He checks himself out in the reflection of the oven lights.

"Me and your hats," Marinette murmurs. He looks up to find her hand kind of hovering. 

"Does it look okay?" As she flounders, he turns to Marc. "Did we do it right?"

It's not just wearing the kippah. Marc warns them that he only knows a few things, but to Adrien it's a lot. It turns out he's made challah, too. They prepare a lot of dough for honey challah, some of the regular kind Adrien's been making, and a cool cocoa-flavored braid dotted with chocolate chips. Marinette hoards some of the honey challah dough and refuses to tell them what for. Nino discloses that a second cousin of his is going to make some meat-stuffed bestels and cigars. Adrien is quickly assured there's no smoking involved. 

Adrien tries to repay Nino until Marinette offers to replace the feuilles de brick; they shake on it.

"When in doubt, it's fried," says Marc.

They're curious about how much Marc knows. It seems a bit more than a casual guest of the family. As they settle in to actually study, Marc tells them he might think of converting.

"You can do that?" asks Adrien.

"Yeah. It's difficult. I don't know that you'd have to, I mean, you could be learning the same stuff but it's not..."

"It's like you found out you were on the attendance rolls when you got here," Nino supplies.

"Yeah, something like that. I'm still thinking about it. Could be worth it, I mean." He fiddles with his pencil. "I don't have an intense religious upbringing or anything. Whatever the future holds, it's a big part of Nathaniel, and he's... same with me. He's my partner, y'know?"

 _Partner_.

"Yeah," says Adrien.

Marinette hums. When he looks over at her, she seems very thoughtful.

*

Adrien goes back to school with them, partly to keep up the alibi. Marc drops back to walk alongside. "Hey, is Marine doing all that work? I saw the macaroons in the oven, and she's making applesauce? From scratch?" 

Adrien guesses 'from scratch' means homemade. "We're trying to slow her down," he whispers back.

"I think there's something that could help with that."

*

After making up a suitably convoluted 'independent project' for his many onlookers, Adrien takes his leave of science class. Juleka passes him on the way in as he's leaving; he notices that she's wearing elbow pads. With skulls on them, naturally. She actually makes eye contact, and gives him an enigmatic look which definitely does not have him worried, nope! Politely he says goodbye. Juleka just smirks and combines a hair-toss with a wave.

When he arrives to start braiding the challah, he finds another greased pan already proofing.

It's filled with roses made of dough. 

They're already taking up the whole pan. This must have been rising since they left for school.

In Marinette's swoopy cursive is a note to soak it in honey-water once it's out of the oven. And to only add not more than a drop of rosewater, if he'd like that.

He loves it.

"Oh my," says Sabine behind him. "Oh, isn't that sweet?"

"As honey," Adrien says automatically. 

Sabine laughs softly. "Let me get the kettle going." She smiles. "How would you like to get started on the latkes?"

*

He's not allowed anywhere near the pans of sizzling oil, but he's put to work literally wringing the potatoes dry.

"Water and hot oil are very dangerous, okay? Remind me to teach you how to extinguish a grease fire. Hopefully you won't need it!" she says cheerily. "We'll let Marinette fry up the cheese latkes closer to serving. It's not so much oil. Part of the miracle, isn't that right? They're closer to Italian style, but Tom's mother says they're close to authentic. There, now—don't worry. Gina doesn't usually ask questions."

Recalling that fateful birthday party, Adrien nods.

She shows him how to shape the latkes. They don't have to be exactly the same; however she senses his unease, and gives him an ice cream scoop. 

For some reason using the scoop for something other than ice cream blows his mind. 

And it also feels strangely right.

"Now then. We are experimenting a bit, so this might not be strictly traditional," she says with a twinkle in her eye. Like there might be more to this than following a recipe. "Smoke-point might be a bit much for right now—I know you're interested in science, Adrien, but you can look up the oils later—except I should mention what I'm using. This is vegetable oil and schmaltz."

"Schmaltz," Adrien repeats.

"It's rendered chicken fat," Sabine explains. "I happen to know if you want to get very fancy, properly rendered duck fat is also yummy." As though sensing he's about to start drooling, she slides over some leftover olive tapenade and the last of the matzo. Obediently he gives thanks, hoping he can learn the words soon, and starts eating. Sabine claims his flattened potato cake shapes. "Some of them might not want to come together, but that's what we have the matzo for. You kids did a good job."

"Mostly we destroyed it," Adrien says.

"Breaking things down isn't as easy as it looks," Sabine insists. "It's part of cooking, dear." Her smile turns wistful, and she switches to Mandarin. "I remember cooking with my aunts and cousins. It was a wood fire with a long line of woks. Uncle nearby, thumping away at the chopping block." She looks up and turns her smile to Adrien. "Good thoughts," she says in French, and perhaps she means for both of them.

*

Adrien is nervous about putting the challah in the oven without anyone watching. He was always supervised, before. All Sabine said was to turn the oven off if it smelled like burning, and to call down to the bakery. He knows Plagg is nearby, at least. A low table by the couch now sports two entire cheese platters. 

Maybe he should... pray?

He's used to the concept of intercessors. Even the magic he wears on his finger has a buffer of sorts. 

This feels different. 

Well, he'll do what he's always done. He's not sure about it, but he'll give it a shot.

Dusk is setting in early, or perhaps it's cloudy outside. With no other lights on, he sets the temperature and checks everything. Pans loaded with space between them. He's supposed to be independently studying for science class, after all. Last but not least Marinette's delicate roses right in front, where he can check on them. 

Loaves of bread, from mixing to kneading to first and second rises. 

He touches the covered top of his head. The weight is familiar. "Okay," he says aloud. "Be cool, Adrien."

*

He is camped in front of the oven like a reality contestant when Nino arrives. He's got not one but two insulated boxes, plus his backpack. While he refuses to open the first carrier, the second one is revealed to hold a big pot. Still steaming.

"That is a lot of couscous," Adrien says. 

Nino takes off his hat... to reveal another hat. Someone's feeling dramatic tonight. "Where's Marinette?" 

Adrien shrugs noncommittally (as he'd never be allowed representing the family name). "She's coming back to do the cheese latkes. Those are the potato ones."

"Ohhh, oh, these good, or?"

"Go for it, dude. There's some sour cream, and more honey, and I'm not actually sure if there are rules about eating latkes?"

"Eat them with people, I heard," says Nino. He sets the pot of fragrant couscous on a trivet. "Dude, don't."

"Awwww." His bro knows him too well.

"The solemnity or whatever." They snort, and start giggling. "Heyyy, once your bread's done, you can pop these in and heat them up again."

"Oh, why didn't I think of that?"

"Picked it up from Alya," Nino says proudly. To demonstrate his skills, he checks the toaster oven where Marientte's been slow-baking three racks of macaroons. Deeming them ready to come out, he replaces them with some latkes. Adrien doesn't dare melt any chocolate without one of the Dupain-Chengs in the room; meanwhile the macaroons should look pretty, right? He tries. On the platter they just come out as shapeless mounds. 

Marc comes to the door. As he takes off his shoes, he says it all smells good. Then he empties his backpack, and a flood of gold-foiled chocolates cover the table. Adrien can _smell_ it. "Got your gelt," Marc says proudly. "We cut out all the labels and stuff. Naël says if you're caught with one, it's like a Lunar New Year thing?"

"Oh! Chūn Jié! Chinese New Year. It doesn't fall till the beginning of February. But this is a bakery," Adrien ponders. "That could work. At most I'll get in trouble for having sweets."

Marc looks a bit wide-eyed. Nino just goes with it. "They have a lot of coins out for Christmas too. I think you're covered, bro."

"And I got a dreidel," says Marc. "I'm sorry I couldn't get a better one. Naël's grandpa brought a lot of cookies, and the grandkids are all playing for them." He holds up a blue plastic top with characters printed on. Hebrew. 

Adrien takes it. Just to hold it. "Um. We should take the challah out." 

"Ah the bread!" 

Finally Nino reveals the second bag's contents, after going through a pile of paper towels. The bestels, triangular pastry-style dough stuffed with meat; the cigars, which do look like cigars; and the crinkly rings of Algerian doughnuts sparkling with sugar. Everything looks hot out of the fryer. Nino fishes out a lemon and they wrestle around with it before finally figuring out how to squeeze it over the pastries. They go into the hot oven to warm up. Out come the challah loaves. Fortunately they know how to boil water, so they follow Marinette's instructions and successfully baste her golden roses with honey-water. 

And they didn't even make that much of a mess. 

The latkes have warmed up by now. Nino grabs one and dollops it with sour cream. "Dude, you made this? This is good!"

Adrien scratches his neck. "Sabine, Mme. Dupain-Cheng did all the work."

Marc has caught on to how many latkes are in the room. "It usually takes an entire household to cook that many. For just two or three people, that's a lot."

"Look at my man!" crows Nino. "Baking bread and making pancakes. At this rate you could snag a girlfriend, too." He smiles, slinging an arm on his shoulder, completely not missing how Adrien's cheeks flame up. "I mean, your face is okay."

Marc snorts a laugh behind his hand.

"Bro," says Adrien mournfully. Okay, the latkes are better eaten with people. Who knew.

Like he's envisioning a marquee, Nino sweeps his hand across the ceiling. "Any day now."

"I'm here!!!" Marinette stumbles down the stairs, shoulder-checks the bookcase, and takes a header over the couch. It's a very good thing they angled it. Still anchored by the original putty, the menorah doesn't even wobble. "It was a short nap! I can take the macaroons and the applesauce shouldn't take much time—" She blinks. Taking in the room. There is food on nearly every available surface. The oven is full of appetizers. 

"Oh, Marinette," Adrien sing-songs. "Marc told me about a really interesting Hanouccah tradition."

"Eee? I m-mean. O-oh yeahh?" Hastily she smooths out her bedhead; she probably doesn't know about the unique crease from her cat pillow.

Adrien advances on her, and she kind of totters back to land on the couch. She stares up at his smirk. "Once the candles are lit, the women don't do any work."

"Good catch," Nino tells Marc.

"It's to honor the brave ladies who turned the tide of the revolt."

Suddenly Marinette's eyes narrow. "But the candles aren't lit yet." 

Adrien's spine stiffens. "No, but..."

"Then I've got till sundown!" she leaps up and gets around Adrien. 

Only to be blocked by Nino. "Ah, ah, ah. Your bestie knows you better." He reaches into his backpack... and produces five jars of applesauce, each swaddled in Anansi's promotional hoodies. "One a night. Otherwise, and I quote, 'My girl will peel and core an entire orchard if we don't stop her.'"

Marinette searches for recourse. Marc shrugs. Adrien says, "Where is the lie?"

"Okay," she pouts. "But I still have the cheese latkes to do!" She takes in the state of the kitchen. "Wow, this is better than when I'm baking."

"So you'll trust us to make the food, Marine?" Adrien asks. His grin widens as she tugs on her apron strings.

"I, uh, well. Yeah! Everything looks delicious. You guys did fantastic." It's a sign of the force of her personality that all three boys perk up. Dumping the wet and dry ingredients into a mixing bowl, she glances at the clock. "I bet I can get in a dozen pancakes before sundown." 

"Are you Alix now?" Nino protests.

"And isn't it about time to—!" she begins. Then she turns to look at Adrien. "Do you want us in the room?"

To call his cousin Félix.

*

Félix seems relieved that Marc's there with them, even if he doesn't understand all the words. He still makes a face when they mispronounce something, but he can find no fault in Marc's gentle corrections. Between them, they walk through the hamotzi, first the blessing over hand-washing (which happens to be about twenty seconds), and then over the bread. Adrien's never made anything that was good enough to bless. Not that he knows of. He's kind of glad he tried to pray before, even if it was just him. 

As usual Marinette solves their privacy issue. She claims her ear plugs will help her concentrate on the latkes. And Nino and Marc can bond over a short film that just came out, while wearing headphones. 

"I swear, you need a challah cover," Félix grumbles. "You'll start spraying spittle before you understand how to say—"

"I'll learn the sounds, Fé—" somehow, "Now what's going on with our moms?" Félix still radiates disdain, so Adrien softens his tone. "If it's comfortable for you to say, I mean if it's private..."

"You'd have to know my Mum better," Félix shoots back. "Sufficed to say, it was not an easy year for her. If she wants to believe that her sister has hopped a train or gone swimming in the Channel, I'm not shattering her hothouse." 

"Is she... better now?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking." Félix cleans imaginary lint from his sleeve. "Though it says something about your branch of the family that no one put up missing posters or put up a bounty, and not one of your Parisian circle so much as blinked. Otherwise..." It also meant his Aunt Amelie hadn't searched either. Adrien can hardly fault her, when he didn't either; his only excuse is he was isolated, practically exiled at the time, and in the present enquiries from him would draw too much attention. (When it comes down to it, it's his duties as Chat Noir that he has to put before his mom's whereabouts. He hopes she forgives him.) 

"I get it," Adrien says. "And I can be discreet."

Félix still bristles. "The alternative does not bear repeating. You hear me, Agreste? Knowing my mother she might not sit shiva but she should have done something. Ugh, you have to somehow get a hold of those prayers. Given your... you. It would be a dead giveaway, though."

"Nice one."

"Good to see your immensely terrible sense of humor is on call." He wrinkles his nose. "I'll keep listening for clues. There's no physical evidence one way or another."

"Then there's no point worrying about it," Adrien says. "As long as your mom is okay, and you're okay. Hey, it's almost time. Stay for our lighting? Please?"

"Fine. I'll hold your hand through the blessing. After that..." Félix squints as Adrien moves the tablet around. "Did you cater your Hanukkah party?"

"This? No, we made all of it. Everyone's cousins pitched in. It's, it'll be fine. Everyone's having holiday parties; it'll go unnoticed."

"And are you compensating them? Did you do this?" Félix says as the pickup swings to Marinette, who is stacking the last of the latkes. 

"Yes," she growls. "We all did!"

"Then bill me later. I'll cut a cheque and have it couriered. Do you even have a bank account?"

They're all so flabbergasted that the other three nod. "We all have businesses," Marinette blurts out.

"Even better. It'll be easier to cover up a business transaction. I'll wait till the calendar turns before sending it out. Easier to slip it past an accountant." 

Adrien says, "Félix, you don't have to do that."

"He's our bro. We'd do it for anyone."

"It's about covering your tracks," says Félix blandly. "Adrien can't pay you without that Sancœur sniffing around. I can balance your books, and have him owe me later. It's too much food for a study party, and if you think the likes of Chloé Bourgeois won't notice a multiple-night gathering for which there is a suspicious lack of written invitations..."

"We get it," Adrien says hastily. Though some in the room kind of don't. "I'll have it itemized, I'll do it myself." He shoots an apologetic look at Marinette, because this is insulting on a different level in her own home, but Félix does have a point. 

"See that you do. Now, you said you had a menorah?"

"Thank you," Marinette manages to get out.

"Yeah, thanks dude," says Nino, still glancing between them like he's wandered into a tennis match.

At which point Sabine Dupain-Cheng and Luka Couffaine clatter into the room.

"Do you need a bouncer for your Hanukkah party?" remarks Félix incredulously.

*

There's no time for introductions; Luka is fitted with a kippah, and the shamash is lit.

They light the fourth night's candle with an air of bemusement.

Félix is marginally more polite with the presence of an adult. Or perhaps he's completely taken aback by Sabine's heartfelt thanks. Adrien is beginning to wonder if she can weaponize guilelessness. Either way, he leaves them with a backhanded compliment about their pronunciation, and takes his leave for his own celebration before the singing can start. 

As soon as he's gone, Adrien tells them that Félix has a lovely singing voice.

Luka whips out his guitar. "I've got sheet music!" 

"Wonderful!"

"You're too much, Luka," says Adrien. "I'm shocked you made it."

"I switched with Juleka. Ah, ah, bandmate," he chides gently, "She's doing deliveries with Rose. Nobody's down about it."

"Sweeeet." Nino's examining the music.

Having just blown in, Luka makes his greetings. "Lahiffe."

"Couuuuffaine, this is a sick set up." Nino admires the small speakers, and the other gadgetry. 

"It's not much."

"Dude, it's portable."

"Thanks." Luka notices Marc, and Adrien scolds himself for his manners—they haven't met. "Uh, hi. I like your tremolo. I'm Luka."

Marc doesn't seem to find any of that odd. "Marc. Marc Anciel. I don't... play anything."

"Oh, let me teach you how to play spoons!" volunteers none other than Sabine from her spot on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Mme. Cheng," says Nino gravely.

Adrien appears beside him. "The ladies are exempt from work while the candles are burning."

Marc seems thrown that they're extending this to adults too. "That's, that's how I understand it. I can check your pronunciation." He darts a glance at the blackened screen still propped up where Félix had held court.

"That's cool. These are all," Luka gestures. "Sounded out. Spelled."

"All right then," says Sabine cheerfully. "Playing isn't work, is it? I won't teach Marc anything, he'll just be watching me play. And this will give me a chance to get off my feet. Speaking of..."

"MARINETTE!"

Is trying to creep back down the stairs. "I was just getting this!" She holds up the rolled up keyboard.

"Thank you, Marinette," says Adrien warmly. He confiscates it from her. "Now you have to rest."

"It's the law," Marc says, amused.

"Wait, but the sugar—!" 

The boys conspire to dump Marinette on the couch, as she flails and complains in vain. 

Beside her, Sabine lies back and clicks her spoons. "Adrien, dear, would you dial my husband and tell him I'm taking a break?" she says in her best I'm-a-role-model voice.

"Of course, Sabine!" Adrien chirps. 

Marinette grumbles on the couch.

"There, there, dear," says Sabine. "You needed some rest." They exchange something in their looks, and Marinette loosens. A little.

The songs were simple, and more slanted to the vocal than instrumentals, to Adrien's ear. Luka and Nino turning up the volume had the bonus of drowning out their voices. Even Marc was wincing at their attempts; and there was less chance that anyone would hear the distinct accents (or attempts thereof, because there seemed to be three different ones going at once). At one point Nino opines that they really should be dancing for some of it. "Not all formal and stuff. Family style." Before he can take it back, Adrien nods vigorously, and asks to up the tempo.

Nino has a point. Adrien's done recitals and band practices. This is ... a sing-along. A very crude one, but they're trying, and everyone's smiling.

(He's not sure he's ever done karaoke with his mom. Which is another odd void in their history. The uncertainty doesn't bother him as much as it did this morning, as much as it's vexing Félix. All he thinks is one day he _might_ do karaoke with his mom; and in the meantime he's playing percussion with Marinette's mom and her nice silverware.)

(He'd picture one of those bouncing pointers, except one of these days an akuma is going to bounce one across floating magic lyrics, and his cat-like reflexes are going to urge him to chase it down and drag it back to Ladybug.)

Well, except for Marinette. They all complimented her on the rose challah, starting with Adrien, who touched her wrist and thanked her for being so creative and thoughtful. She buried herself under the couch pillows and squealed. Sabine didn't seem concerned, besides shifting over her kicking feet. By the time Marc asked to take pictures of the challah, she emerged long enough to ask Nino to call Alya. 

They can hear Alya through the pillow — "Girl, it's a pack of hot guys waiting on you and serving you food, live a little! Also Nino, I know you're listening. You know you're the hottest one!" — but Marinette doesn't emerge until they start playing S'vivon. 

The dreidel song.

"Wait a minute!" Marinette cries out. "Playing isn't work!" She leaps off the couch. Sabine gathers up her phone and poor Alya. "So I can take a turn with the dreidel!"

They all instinctively hesitate.

Adrien procures the small top. He feels bad for holding on to it, but somehow he just needed to have it in his pocket. "Sure. We have time for a few games."

"We did say we couldn't leave that out," Luka says with a hint of doubt.

"I mean, there's all that chocolate. My bro doesn't get to have much..." says Nino, wringing his cap.

Marinette's eyes glint. She sweeps the chocolate coins across the table, and starts dealing them out. "Let's go."

*

It is a mistake.

"I didn't know you could cheat at dreidel..." Marc mutters.

"She couldn't have been cheating! Could she?" Adrien says. He's eaten a few of the gelt. The rest the sheepish Marinette had stashed in the fridge for tomorrow's round of baking. After Nino reminded her that Adrien had to have some chocolate to eat the chocolate.

"It was scary," says Luka simply. Since he's grown up with the Captain, that's saying something. 

The victory dance, and the laugh, and the spent foil wrappers she had kept as trophies did not ease their minds. Who would stop her? It is, after all, in the spirit of the celebration. (Or maybe he just likes strong women who can beat him handily.)

Maybe she was just lucky.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a slight religious point of contention that... is probably minor, but I felt like it would fly by in the text and I certainly noted it. There's a string through here about a one-on-one relationship with G-d, and what that means, and honestly in almost every religion there is a lot of sociopolitics wrapped up in that. (And whew, like that history isn't *carved* into Europe.)  
> I mentioned it because nearly everything Adrien does is performative. Even if every religious image he's seen before now is Christian secular, it's all done in part as a public spectacle. That's ... just what his character story is. So as much as this might be weird from a Jewish perspective, I'm also thinking he's never seen someone, like, pray the rosary in private, and well, all of that is weird.  
> I just wanted to point out that some of those 'huh, that's odd' moments are partially because he's Adrien Agreste, and not entirely for a standardized cookie-cutter compare/contrast.  
> One mo' time ! Do not learn stuff from fanfic ! 
> 
> /outside links/  
> Sadly there's no illustration of the actual rose formation, which to me is the trickiest part. But loooook. 🌹  
> andreasgardencooking.com/2016/07/25/crown-of-roses-challah/  
> www.traditionsandrecipes.com/algerian-doughnuts-chanukah.html  
> www.traditionsandrecipes.com/-meat-bestels-hanukkah.html  
> and just out, so maybe there was a reason I didn't post right away  
> jewishjournal.com/culture/food/326382/dont-smoke-the-edible-moroccan-cigar/  
> www.pbs.org/food/recipes/cheese-latkes/
> 
> and  
> www.chabad.org/multimedia/music_cdo/aid/218974/jewish/Chanukah-Songs.htm
> 
> And for those of you watching the not-plot,  
> of course there's physical evidence. Gabriel's wearing the extra ring. But as I was reminded recently, ML wouldn't be that without the dramatic irony, so...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It does keep going... 
> 
> Adrien adorns, and not only for Hanouccah. 
> 
> _"Are you ... inviting me to my own Hanouccah party?"_
> 
> Tags added! Heads-up: ships are slightly less background, and we don't mean Plagg/Cheese (neither of whom have speaking parts this time.)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay. Stuff piled up fast, and then when I was *sure* I could come up for air and write... it was the 6th of January. Uhhh yeah. (Please stay safe.) Unfortunately for all and sundry, I don't cope with fluffyness; I cope in far more disturbing ways, which was not conducive to making Softe™ things.
> 
> But 'tis miracle that keeps going, riiiiight? *sweatdrop* Notice how I missed Purimgifts; this is how it happens, every year.
> 
> On the bright side, if I hadn't been late, I couldn't share this!  
> https://kiraliana.tumblr.com/post/640885803452710912/wait-i-found-more  
> im cry XD
> 
> There's plenty going on here. My apologies if I miss a spot. Let me know! Many characters share opinions and philosophies which should not be taken as definitive or prescriptive. I don't have any idea how to make Denise into a Yiddish diminutive or iminutive; hand-wave this as a family nickname. Used 'high holy day' mainly to disambiguate the *English* because French apparently uses the Hebrew term. If you're not into it, please note that there are denoted meanings attached to terms like Bubbe and high holy day. And of course the irony that this holiday is about the Maccabees.  
> Heads up for mild yet constant embarrassment squicks...  
> Félix appears with the backstory I was coerced into exploring (dangit, logic! stop being logical) and is his usual despicable self. There's a reference to Spoiler History Thing which is shown in the endnote below.  
> And he's not wildly OOC, y'all. I lost count of the implied insults. Prepare to be offended?  
> On a brighter note, reminder that in this house, Tikki may operate an electric griddle.
> 
> Link sprinkle for this chapter!  
> 🐕 https://blondebrainpower.tumblr.com/post/189796770214  
> 🐕 https://groenendaze.tumblr.com/post/637799529367977984/heres-a-pic-of-my-jewish-parents-in-their  
> 🗓️ https://rosefyrefyre.tumblr.com/post/637605354629431296/someone-explain-the-jewish-holidays-to-me-like-im

Adrien is woken early by the commotion of horticulturalists moving greenery into the entrance hall. Nathalie is perturbed to see him up, and nearly lays into the crew for making noise, but Adrien smooths that over by saying he just wanted to watch. 

"You must be excited," she says in her noncommittal tone.

From long habit, Adrien stifles a yawn. "Holiday season," he offers. It doesn't feel like a prevarication. It's a giant evergreen tree under his roof. It's exciting to watch it go up, with just people power and tools and no magic involved. If he were younger and 'more impetuous' he'd be tempted to get underfoot of the professionals. Then again, if he were younger, he wouldn't have super-powers... (He tries not to tail-twitch while he's out of costume.)

Nathalie, unable to curb her own efficiency, unloads his schedule on him while he's draped over the banister. Does not tell him to stop slouching: must be the holiday spirit. "Don't skip breakfast," Nathalie warns. "I'm going to make sure this racket isn't disturbing your father."

All of the thoughts trailing from that aren't enough to sour his appreciation. 

Mother would've gotten up early to watch. 

*

He doesn't feel conflicted until he's in the car, watching the tinsel and ribbons and all those lights flash past. Should he try to get out of it? No, it would be too suspicious. He really should have thought of doing this earlier, or on another holiday, but he's too used to his calendar dropped on his head by Nathalie or M. D'Argencourt or even Hawkmoth. Does he _want_ to get out of it? Should he want to? 

He's wavering on the side of enjoying decking the halls with Nathalie — he did notice she was up and working well before him — when a blur of petite girl in black zooms in from the corner of his vision.

So as not to alarm Gorilla, or Nathalie for that matter, he scrambles away from the car, getting in a frenzied wave and a, "Goodbye! See you tonight!" ... which he immediately realizes locks him into Christmas decorating.

There's no time to dwell. Alix Kubdel absconds with his elbow, and given that his elbow is attached to him and she's on wheelie shoes, Adrien is rapidly hustled away.

No sooner is he sat down at a picnic bench (there were benches here?) out of sight of the school crowd, when Alix slams her palms on the table.

"This isn't working!"

"Uh?" 

Alix shakes her head. "Buttercup," she says, like he's a novice tripping on his feet, "You cannot be disappearing to the same girl's house every evening, and not have it get around."

Adrien's face falls. "Is it... getting around?"

"Not yet," says Kim, jogging up on them. Max strides up right behind him.

This doesn't look like _not yet_.

"Don't be alarmed," says Max. "We have been distracting your driver with discussions of _Majestia Unplugged_ during the approximate period of sundown. The activities and behaviors of the Dupain-Cheng family," he exchanged a glance with Kim, "and your own, coincided with a limited range of possibilities."

Alix spins wheels with her hands and shoots out a Sailor Moon jab in the direction of the bakery's menorah in the window.

Huffing and puffing, Marc rounds the corner and joins them. "Sorry, Adrien. They're really good guessers. It's okay, though. It's just the Art Club kids. And, uh, Kim." Adrien wonders what Max was doing in Art Club. (Or maybe it was Markov.) It's better than acknowledging the sweat beading on his brow. "Don't worry, all of them hate your dad. No offense."

"Okay," says Adrien. (Markov peeks out from Max's charging holster, and offers Marc a bottle of fuel.)

Alix leans in conspiratorially. Kim straightens to 'act casual' so that won't look like a conspiracy. Mostly Alix is freaking Adrien out a little. "Look, ducky, the first day you could pass off as commissioning Marinette, or playing videogames," Max nodded, "Or even studying. But consecutive days? Even Chloé's going to put something together. Sabrina hasn't caught on because her dad is super-stressed this month, that's the only reason she hasn't jumped you."

Adrien shifts in his seat. " _Has_ anyone else found out?"

"We're pretty sure M. D'Argencourt is covering for you," says Kim. That's right, he's on teams with several of the other fencers. Which means all the other fencers. 

"Though they probably think you're going to Marintte's for other reasons," mutters Alix.

Before Adrien can ask, Kim expounds, "It's a party, dude! There's no covering up a party, you know that." He winks like he's got pool water in his eye. "So the only thing to cover up a party..." His arm gestures get expansive, which is not subtle at all, "... _is a bigger party!_ "

"The logistics have largely been determined already," says Max. "We only need you to sign off on it. Figuratively speaking."

Even as a swell of goodwill builds up in his chest, Adrien narrows his eyes at them (as he's so often told not to.) 

In a low voice, he says: "Are you... inviting me to my own Hanouccah party?"

" _Majestia Unplugged_ streams live tonight," Max says.

"They have a point with the fake-out," says Marc. "If you're having a study d— party with Marinette, and only the people you know show up, it's going to be suspicious."

Alix pounds the table again. Also not subtly. "What we need is for the people _Marinette_ knows to show up."

"Which fortunately intersects with your circle of acquaintances," says Max.

"If it's okay with the Dupain-Chengs—" 

"Already got the green light," Kim crows.

The background panic is subsiding in favor of a flare of excitement not unlike bounding off an unfamiliar roof for the first time. Now this is what he went to school to experience! "—and as long as it doesn't get back to my father. Sure."

"Yes! We are rocking this out!" Alix and Kim bump elbows.

Their enthusiasm is better than espresso. "I'm going to be leaving early today," Adrien adds reluctantly.

Max says, "Even more ideal. Your departure will decouple your involvement from the festivities."

"This will be the bomb!" cheers Alix. Again, not subtle.

"Not that you're not welcome at your own party," mumbles Marc, shuffling.

"Of course, that will leave ample time to study for the geography exam," says Max.

"Max, did you have to harsh it?" Alix groans. Kim makes to thwap his friend.

"Do you not have a disproportionate advantage, Kubdel? Besides, the instructor is the one harshing it," says Max. He tells Adrien, "The best cover is based on a grain of truth."

Adrien nods. "That's true." He ought to know.

"It's gonna be plugged in, Model Boy," says Kim. "Oh yeah! I am so bringing the cooking oil!"

Marc and Adrien exchange looks. Adrien says, "Doesn't the bakery have a lot of that?"

"No good if they're trying to explain why all their cooking oil disappeared when they weren't frying that many doughnuts out front," says Kim.

"You're a doughnut," says Alix.

Reminded of Félix's offer of compensation, Marc and Adrien find themselves in accord. "I guess you've got to make some miracles happen," says Marc.

*

After some goofing off, as though hearing some signal, Alix looks around and yells, "Scatter!" 

She and her friends do so, leaping over bushes and vaulting across the bench in a way that has Adrien twitching to follow suit. He manages to gather himself at a more sedate pace. Marc is glancing around, awkwardly sidling away.

They end up walking together. "Oh," says Marc, "Naël will try to meet you at lunch today. Art room. He's trying to convince his parents to spend Shabbat with you guys."

"He's what?! But it's..." Adrien runs his thumb along on his bag strap. "It's Shabbat."

"His choice," Marc shrugs. "I'll have to bow out that night; that's my parent's company holiday party. Shabbat's cool," he assures, like that's the main issue. "I thought it'd be boring, but once you get the hang of it... it's great with a close family." He looks away like he's sensed he's said something wrong. "That could be because I'm the resident Gentile. Or Goyim? I don't know what I am."

He's not the only one. "Please tell Naël thank you."

"Doubt it's a problem for him. From what I hear, he is getting major points from his Gramps," whispers Marc. 

Adrien doesn't worry about the Kurtzbergs knowing. They won't use his name. He just hopes one day he'll get to meet them.

*

Adrien gathers his stuff for lunch except Plagg's knocking on the side of his bag. He's smuggled out to make like he's checking out a nearby café, a show for Gorilla's benefit, and smuggled back in to have his actual lunch in the art room. Marinette made the sandwiches, of course: cheese with a smear of sweet mustard. The bottom crusts seem to be missing their corners from shallow diagonal slices. The box of soufganiya is from yesterday, for which she apologizes. (There's no need; Adrien's learned from countless modeling shoots that stolen stale doughnuts taste just as good as fresh.) Adrien thanks her, and she's saying she has to go make dough when the troop smuggles in Nathaniel.

Is Kim tip-toeing? In an actual trenchcoat? 

"Okay, I, there's," Marinette tries to tell Adrien, her gaze darting to the sandwich bread for some reason. Nathaniel notices, and pinches back a smile. 

"You were saying you have something to dough?" Adrien prompts.

Her eyes widen comically. "You," she says, "Yes, okay. I can't believe my dad got to you..." she grumbles to herself.

This is probably not the time to admit how familiar Adrien is with Tom Dupain's bread puns, since he picked that up as Chat Noir. 

However. "It was the yeast I could do."

She makes a sound like a muffled shriek, and this time Naël can't hold back his laugh. 

This is the first time Adrien's eaten in the art room. The other art kids are gone, towed off by a flustered Marinette. In their wake, an odd quiet settles in. Naël shows him how to wash in the paint splattered utility sink, under Alix's latest graffiti art of Santa hanging upside-down from a chimney and what has to be Chat Noir swooping in to save him. 

Then, nervously, Naël walks him through the blessings, in Hebrew, and in a more confident French. "I hope I'm not messing up," Naël says. "I didn't think I was that bad at it until I had to teach someone else."

"You? I've been hearing these blessings for days, and I still can't pronounce them right!"

"You know so many languages," says Naël. "That's not really my thing. I could be teaching you wrong."

"I'm only good at it from constant repetition," insists Adrien. Which he doesn't have a chance to do, in this case. 

Suddenly Naël starts giggling. He gestures. "Look at us! Maybe you _are_ Jewish." They share a sheepish chuckle, Adrien rubbing his nape. "Like, I told my Bubbe Denise a little of what was up. Kind of. This is all a little weird? Not a bad weird! We don't really, uh, 'actively convert', I mean there are community centers—" Adrien is boggled that there are community centers. In Paris? "—but you'd have to walk in. And there's the disagreements; of course." Adrien doesn't quite see, but he lets Naël come to his point. "Anyway, Bubbe Denée said there are a lot of rules about our connection to G-d. But you know G-d also knows you're trying."

Adrien feels like a weight that he didn't know had been bowing in his chest cavity has shifted. Breathing feels strange. 

"That... counts?"

Naël looks like he wants to say that not all dads are like Gabriel. Adrien wouldn't blame him; the art kids hate him, and Naël is a fixture here. 

"The more you do, the better," he says simply.

"So don't worry about it?"

"Oh! Worry about it," says Naël with a cheerful edge. "Worry about it _all the time_."

Adrien bursts into laughter. Nathaniel looks stunned that he thinks it's funny, and then joins in. They expend their nerves for a minute.

Naël clears his throat. "... okay, let's bless the bread, and eat. Marine's sandwiches are the best."

"Do you do this every time?"

"No way; we established I'm terrible at this." This time they both laugh at the joke. "It's practice in case I can't make it for the remaining nights. Sorry, man." 

"You're going above and beyond," Adrien assures him. If anyone was disappointing, it wasn't Nathaniel. "Really. Thanks for showing up."

There's a brief review of the after-meal rituals, then the rest of the shortened meal period is filled with bits of conversation. Adrien asks if he celebrates Christmas, and is surprised to find the Kurtzbergs do put up lights and exchange gifts. "No tree, not up that many floors. But other kids at Hebrew school do. It could just be for the younger kids, though. They're supposed to be small Hanouccah gifts, but they turn into eight times Christmas in some families. Kids love that." He shrugs. "Not that different from most of Paris: as far as I know, no one in their own salon treats it like a holy day. We have a bunch of those already. Hanouccah's not even a High Holy Day. Yamim noraïm. That starts... when is that, next year...?"

They talk through the calendar—Adrien insists he can memorize it without notes—and slide into chatting. Adrien tells him about tree decorating. Naël tells him about the number of people who call him 'Noel'. Then Adrien gets into the original _Cyborg 009_ , and Naël fills him in on the _Devilman_ manga. 

They eat together.

*

Adrien finds Marinette in their kitchen after he's let out for 'biology'. 

She stammers out that she'd taken off early to help with her parents' bakery, only to be shooed upstairs. "Are you and your parents really okay with the Art Club crashing here?"

"Of course! It's not like we don't need to study. Alix is coming, right?" She was the best at geography. Marinette nodded firmly. "And Papa's all excited. He'll have the deep fryer going, you'll see. I think he sent Luka to pick up the uncooked cigars, so Nino will have less to haul."

"Hopefully they won't be smoking."

Marinette's eyes widen. "That's... that's. No."

Adrien grins.

"Terrible," she says, turning back to her work. "Share that with Papa as soon as you see him."

Adrien salutes, and gets to washing his hands. He thinks he's doing it correctly. He's glad he doesn't have to remove the ring, since it never leaves his hand.

This _is_ a weird situation. He's not sure he's come to grips with that.

He thinks about asking for help, when he's a literal superhero.

He thinks about doing his best; he thinks about doing his best, and actually having that be acceptable. Maybe even ... required.

He glances over at Marinette, working away, toe-shoe drumming at the floor. "Could you show me how to make the roses? For your challah."

Marinette pivots seamlessly. "Sure! There's more dough ready over there."

*

Adrien's roses turn out misshapen and all different sizes. Especially next to Marinette's crown.

Marinette praises them, and with a wink, pours honey right out of the jug in what looks like double the amount for the honey water recipe. Once she shows him how to add the rosewater correctly — after the liquid's cooled some, which he should have guessed given that it's a volatile oil — Marinette makes another batch of honey water. "That one's mine, this one's yours."

It's going to be embarrassingly sweet. Adrien can't wait.

*

That's not the end of the special deliveries. A _crate_ of cheese arrives, 'fresh from the caves' — Did cheese grow in caves? Adrien has always been afraid to ask Plagg, lest he start plotting real estate purchases; the cheese subscriptions are bad enough — and Adrien turns up the music to cover any high-pitched kwami squealing. 

Nino and Alya show up. The latter can't stay long, and she takes a million pictures of the bread, and Adrien making bread. Or just his hands making bread. Adrien's modeled in all kinds of set-ups, and with all kinds of products, yet this attention leaves his cheeks hot. 

Alya assures him it's all Markov-approved encryption, assuming she uploads it anywhere. "Any more arm and _someone_ will recognize him for sure!" says Alya. Marinette's cheeks heat up too. Well, it's not her fault she's got an eye for detail.

They all troop downstairs where Tom Dupain has indeed started heating the oil in a _bath_ that was hiding under one of the ubiquitous stainless steel lids. He has Adrien hold the basket to dip the battered and seasoned vegetables, a task which somehow feels more dangerous than a chemistry lab under the hood, or wielding a Cataclysm. That's a lot hotter than pan-frying the latkes.

They're interrupted by a call alert.

Thankfully it's not an akuma.

It's Félix, calling early. 

Adrien doesn't say his name, so as not to arouse suspicion. He accepts the call once they're on the private landings on the stairs. Everyone else is tactful. Félix has business with them, after all. Alya looks like she wishes it was an akuma. "Oh, it's you."

"My cousin," Adrien introduces politely. "Félix, who has yet to apologize, it seems," he adds, less politely.

Félix rolls his eyes like he'd pop them out if he could. "Very well. I'm sorry for ruining your little video lovefest." It's not terribly sincere. Adrien's not surprised.

"I got akumatized!" Alya retorts, cutting off the 'jerk' part. 

"Well, that part's hardly my concern. Hawkmoth, was it?"

"That's Alya, she runs the Ladyblog," says Adrien. It's weird that he's _fought_ against Félix as Chat Noir, and he can't bring it up. At his shoulder, Marinette looks ready to blow steam out of her ears.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Félix says, like he's not sure whose pleasure. "You have the fortune of my company, since the rabble has decided to go _wassailing_ ," he snips, with distaste.

"I don't know, that sounds like fun," Adrien says. 

He's fishing.

"If that's the sort of thing you like," Félix responds. Adrien knows his cousin well enough to read his disdain. He doesn't dump on the Christmas cheer, only that Adrien is cheesy enough to be drawn to a jovial social gathering. Despite all the bickering and strife, Adrien relaxes.

"What, so you can ruin that too?" Alya grumbles.

"That wasn't cool, back then," Nino says. His even tone sounds more condemning than the girls' anger.

"Why would you even do that?" Marinette bursts out.

They're at the apartment door. Félix sighs; Adrien stills, and leans the tablet on the jamb to steady the picture. At last Félix relents. "Fine. I found my dear cousin to be tiresomely naive. It's a bad look: blindly trusting people you've just met. But I suppose you lot aren't entirely useless." It wasn't clear if Félix was talking about Adrien, or Adrien's friends, or both. "It seems he's lost without you."

"I really would be," says Adrien with a pang of fondness. He looks about, in time to catch Marinette fumbling with her house key. Granted, they don't usually lock this door. Alya saves her with a snicker.

Félix continues, "So I wanted to rattle his cage a bit. And I was," his face gets pinched, "Bitter about not seeing eye-to-eye on matters which _are none of your business_." He manages to catch Alya's eye in particular. She purses her lips.

"We're clearing that up," Adrien says brightly.

Marinette, however, isn't quite done. "That doesn't explain why you fought Chat Noir and Ladybug!"

That uncorks Alya. "Yeah!"

It's a good thing Marinette's hustling them into the room. The next words out of Félix are a nonchalant, "I was going for their Miraculouses, of course."

Adrien nearly drops the tablet. He manages to plant it on the bookshelf amidst the screeching and yelling. "Fé! Why would you want them?" Oh G-d, he's not trying to make a wish, is he? He was upset after the loss of his father. Adrien doesn't want to have to fight his family. Not now! When they're getting so much closer.

Félix is naturally amused by the hubbub. "For the thrill of taking them."

"They're not yours!" sputters Marinette.

"What makes you think those Miraculous jewels belong to those heroes in the first place?" Félix scoffs. "I bet you the password to my trust fund that those aren't family heirlooms." Adrien stiffens, remembering the tome of Miraculous history, and all the previous holders chronicled therein. 

Marinette is darting glances at the ceiling, wringing her hands. "So you, you'd what? Would you do? Sell them off to Hawkmoth?"

Félix grows even more amused. "Hawkmoth has one too, doesn't he? And the peacock bird, Mayura? Do their Miraculouses belong to them?"

"No..." says Alya slowly. "But they don't belong to you either!"

"Yeah!" echoes Marinette.

Félix shrugs. "If I found out whose they were originally? Of course I'd return them."

Marinette stops short. Everyone hesitates. "...really?" 

His cousin scoffs with unvarnished contempt. "As though Hawkmoth could outsmart me. Have you seen his akuma? His gambits are sloppy, and he seems to rely on luck. Not very clever when he's fighting a luck-based heroine." Marinette starts, rubbing at the hinge below her cheekbones. "Honestly I'm surprised he doesn't go after the cat more often. He's the one with bad luck." 

Adrien gulps.

Because Ladybug would want to know (somehow; maybe he'll have Plagg be the eavesdropper, which is probably the truth), Adrien re-confirms. "You would give back the most powerful magical jewels—"

"That you know of," says Félix, eyes gleaming. "Come on, Adi. I didn't learn all those magic tricks to impress my fans."

"He has fans?" whispers Nino.

"But that's not... real magic," interjects Alya. "Not like the Miraculouses."

"So?" sniffs Félix. "They can apparently be stolen. Witness the Bourgeois girl. As though Ladybug would recruit her of her own accord." Both Alya and Marinette's brows rise, and their gazes dart away. "If you're dealing with thieves, who better to settle matters than a better thief?"

"Oh!" Adrien shoots up, and in his excitement, slaps the shelf on either side of the tablet, his enthusiasm making Félix recoil hundreds of kilometers away. "You're like Indiana Jones! Or Lara Croft!"

"You're such a weeb." But Fé doesn't deny it.

Adrien pouts. "Indiana Jones isn't..."

"It's _geeky_."

"True." Adrien perks up like his hair's on fire. Behind him, his friend are exchanging loaded looks. "I get it now. You want to repatriate stolen artifacts."

"Jewelry," corrects Félix. 

"That's... really cool," says Nino, and it doesn't even sound that dubious.

"Larger objects are a bother. It's better to specialize one's interests." Meaning he's always been most interested in jewelry. "And I wouldn't have to go far afield, either. The British are the worst." 

"Even _Miraculous_ jewels?" Alya says with a skeptical edge. She touches her collarbone. 

"Yes, _do_ try _not_ to steal them from Chat Noir and Ladybug before they defeat Hawkmoth," says Marinette dryly.

"Yeah, Paris kind of needs them?" says Nino.

Félix has an unnervingly feline smile. "They'll just have to keep track of them better," he teases. Adrien's hackles rise, but he knows he's kidding (mostly), and catches Marinette by the crook of her elbow before she can charge at the screen. Remarks Félix, "The heroes may be central to the fate of their corresponding villain. It's mundane people like me who end up changing the world."

"Félix, there is nothing mundane about you," Adrien says to him. This is the best thing he's heard in a long while. "My bro is right, that is _really_ cool." Talk about a career path! 

Félix's shock surfaces from beneath his condescending amusement. "You think so? Not going to be a stickler for the rules?"

"You're helping people," declares Adrien. "That does explain the magician training. And the martial arts training. And the obsession with banking. And all the—"

"Don't give away all my secrets," warns Félix. 

Alya takes in their mirroring smirks, and says, "Oh-okay, now I believe you two are related."

Then Marinette offers: "Alix Kubdel should be joining us. Her family works at the Louvre."

Adrien's surprised. Marinette was eager to pick her brain for tomorrow's exam.

"Hm," says Félix, which is code for 'I am intrigued.' "I suppose I have to apologize to her, too."

"To all of Adrien's friends," insists Alya.

"I was shocked he had friends," Félix says, and before they can jump to Adrien's defense again (which Adrien is trying to get used to), he adds, "Given how old yardstick-up-his-arse Uncle Gabriel kept him penned. Who knew my dear cousin had a rebellious streak? I do apologize for running off his precious friends. If it happens again, I promise it will be for a good cause."

For some reason Alya jabs Marinette on the side, hard, and they both stifle a bout of giggling: Alya's full of mischief, and Marinette's full of nerves. "Apology accepted."

"For a good cause," repeats Alya, and Marinette jabs her back.

Nino just sighs and dons his kippah.

Adrien is beaming. "Fé! I think it's been three years since I last heard you apologize to anyone." 

"Cause for celebration," says Félix, voice dry and gaze sharp as always.

*

Nino is talking to Luka while the latter is on the bike, which everyone agrees is a terrible idea. "Like not to put my DJ rep on the line, but if they hadn't ditched the flute after the seventies, every one of these tunes would be a bop."

"The flute?" Luka exclaims into the headset. They can all hear the traffic. Marinette holds her head in dismay with her chocolate-free wrists; this time they used the big oven to churn out the macaroons, and most of them are dipped already.

Car horns blast over the big speakers. Marinette whimpers.

Luka erupts into a string of curses. Adrien's eyes go round.

"What can I say," Nino says with a grin, "I got turned on to it."

Alya abruptly turns red. 

(Behind Adrien, Marinette whirls around like she wants to interject. Chocolate drips down her arm, and she squawks.)

"The flute is a mainstay of a jazz ensemble," Félix contributes. "I tentatively agree. Horns are more traditional."

"Yes! Jazz!" exclaims Nino. "With like, all the brass. That'd be straight fire. The vibe is great for choruses, is what I'm on."

"Acapella is popular," Luka shouts. Loud enough that some bystander shouts 'Oui!' in the background.

"Played for humor," Félix scoffs.

"They popularized Irish step music," Nino starts, before Adrien can warn him off.

The eye-roll echoes across the Channel. "Oh, _well_ , if that's what the Americans in Las Vegas call that—"

"State!" Alya yells.

"New Mexico?" Marinette tries.

"Close, Nevada."

"Arggh—!"

The door bursts open. 

Both Marientte and Adrien jump: she up, he down to a catlike crouch. Fortunately it's Sabine who unlocked the door, and not an interloper. 

It's Kim and Alix and Max. 

Kim is still wearing the trench coat. 

"Who's got dreidels!" Alix shouts. 

"WE'VE GOT DREIDELS!" Kim throws open his coat.

"Kim, dear," says Sabine, "Remember our rule: wear something over your swim shorts before you sit on the furniture."

As Marinette groans, Kim turns around to face Sabine with his coat still open. "Don't worry, Mme. C, I'm layered up for the winter." He does have a knit snowflake vest on, and actual long pants. He turns back around.

On the screen, Félix peeks through his fingers. He sees that all Kim is flashing are pockets of wooden tops. "That's a relief. Adi, are you sure you don't need bouncers?"

"I've got the matzoh," Marc says at a reasonable volume. He and Markov were trailing behind with the boxes. Sabine shuts the door with a twinkle in her eye.

"We're having that with honey," Alya decides. "Babe, fetch the ricotta and the apples?"

"Marinette, why does Kim need that rule?" Adrien whispers reluctantly. 

"There's a whole scroll of them," Marinette whispers back. "You don't want to know."

Félix, and therefore Adrien, remind everyone that they both have to leave early. Alya, too, has to take off for babysitting, though Nino is going to stay for the actual studying. When he's not daring Luka to cause a traffic pile-up over musicology.

Alix cracks her knuckles. "Then that means we've got to spin some _serious_ sevivon."

* 

It's chaos. Adrien hopes Plagg sneaked some cheese, because the cheese is decimated. The macaroons were tossed into the dreidel pot (or the very nice serving bowl) when they ran out of gelt. Never mind Marinette—Markov did in fact try to cheat at the dreidel game. Only the couscous is slowing everyone down, out of fear that it'll get on the Dupain-Cheng furniture. Max and Kim are indeed pretending to smoke the cigars, though Nino is showing good sense and eating them while they're still hot and before the tapenade runs out. Marinette has elected to be benevolent and charitable to all those getting frying grease on her lovingly hand-drawn geography flashcards.

Adrien loves it. They haven't even lit anything yet.

Félix has elected to stay connected till the last moment, despite dragging his heels through individual apologies. Mostly he's enjoying being the expert, and is casually lording it over them. Alix seems content to play along (for now), and in the midst of discussing what may be hypothetical museum heists, they've exchanged info. (That could be as dangerous as biking into traffic.) She's rolling the cigars in the cheese latkes, and managing to devour them and pester Félix with questions without choking on the spot.

"It depends on which tradition you're following. Some have personal menorahs, one for each family member," he's lecturing, for lack of a better term. "In this case, given Miss Marinette's hospitality, the menorah is for the household where Adrien's sleeping."

There is a record scratch. 

Alix's head pops around to stare like a small meadow creature's. " _You're sleeping at Marinette's?_ "

"He's sleeping over at Marinette's?"

"Wait what, since when? How many nights is this holiday?"

"Five so far," says Marc helpfully. "It goes to eight."

"GIRL!" Alya explodes. "HE'S SLEEPING HERE?"

" _Oooooh...!_ "

Adrien has to save Marinette somehow. "I'm not, I go back to the mansion after this!"

"You don't sneak back in?" says Félix, oh-so-innocently. "I thought you'd evaded uncle's minions entirely."

Adrien could, but...

"Are you sneaking back into a girl's house in the middle of the night?"

That sounds kind of bad?

"He's not sleeping with me!" Marinette finally bursts out. "I mean he's not sleeping here! Under my roof! Not in bed!"

"There's a high probability that your parents would let him in again to crash on your couch."

"I would know if Adrien were sleeping here!"

"How? Your bedroom is like, in the roof."

"I would too know! Late night ... snacks! I grab cookies! At night! In the dark!"

"I only assumed," says Félix, "Since the menorah is usually lit under the roof where you sleep. It's not as though they don't celebrate Hanukkah in dormitories and hotel rooms." 

Adrien's heart sinks. "Was I doing it wrong the whole time?"

Félix brushes it off breezily. "I'm sure it's fine. These rules aren't codified universally. Besides," he twitches out a glint of a smile, "Spirit before letter. Where is your sanctuary, Adi? Here with your motley classmates, or in the mansion?"

As usual his cousin's words are double-edged, but Adrien takes his point. 

"You didn't say 'home'," Marientte said suddenly. "You said 'back to the mansion'," she offered shyly.

"And is that not your personal menorah?" says Félix slides his gaze over like he's in the room, indicating the decorated window sill. 

Nino slings an arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, bro. You made it yourself."

"Wait, you made it yourself?"

"Impressive!"

"According to my databanks, it's completely unique."

"That's bomb-a-uh, um, that's nasty sick!" 

"How is that better, Kim...?"

"Marinette helped," Adrien says, flushing bright red. 

"He made the challah too!" Marinette volunteers. She elbows him, grinning wildly. 

Luka's voice blares out of Nino's jacket pocket. (Adrien tries not to flash back to his akuma.) "It's true, he kills it! Tasted awesome. (Please, Madame, go ahead...)"

"Agreste, you boss! You walked into a baker's house and made bread?!"

"Ooooooooh!" comes the chorus.

Marinette titters, dancing on her toes. "The first night, too! All I did was show him how to braid."

"Anybody can..." Adrien shrugs.

"Saccharine as this all is," Félix says with mock disgust, "I must be off to my own lighting." Which is probably in the next room, if all his 'rabble' are hitting the streets. 

"Wait!" says Alix. (Adrien hopes she's not asking about the grappling hook, because at this rate they'll all be accessories to... something. "Who lights the hanoukkiah? If it's Adrien's?" 

"Well, if the going theory is that you're in his... temporary household," he glances at Marinette, who glugs and blushes, till Adrien instinctively steps in front of her, "Then everyone must take a turn."

"There's more than five of us!"

"Great," Marinette sighs, as another skirmish breaks out.

Satisfied with his apple of discord, Félix signs off. "Chag Hanukkah saméach."

"Happy Hanukkah, Fé!" 

"Heh," and the screen winks out. And rattles as someone grabs a dreidel and tries to roll for lighting privileges.

"No idea, dude," Nino is telling Luka.

*

Nino keeps his arm on Adrien like he knows he'll need it. The chaos has simmered down to a nervous solemnity, though still charged — all on tenterhooks to watch the menorah in action. They're still using the recording, though this time half of them sing along. Alix too, with a flawless scholar's enunciation (though a bit later she shakes her head and wonders aloud why they couldn't have searched out the French version). Alya gathers up on Adrien's other side, and squeezes them both into a side-hug. Marinette ends up at the front. Right under his chin. 

Adrien thinks she's stepped wrong when his chin does touch the top of her head, and she startles. She twists to look up, her cheeks bright in the flame-light.

Then she tosses him an incisive glance, and turns back to the lamps, her twin tails bouncing as she nudges his chin right back. Adrien's a flummoxed cat for a moment. Then he giggles softly. By her shaking shoulders, he thinks she's laughing too.

*

Luka is thankfully back on the houseboat. (Much later Adrien will learn than Félix paid off his mobile phone minutes.) Adrien is officially inviting Juleka to look in when he catches Marinette trying to sneak to the loft's ladder.

He almost tackles her. In front of everyone. Instead he pitches his voice instead of himself: "Oh no you don't! You'll sit and relax!" She eeps at him, but defiantly, and he bodily herds her back to the couch.

"Not even sewing, Marinette!" Alya sings. She's already on the couch, patting the cushions.

"Wicked," says Juleka. "Is that the one chick...? Hey! You know what that means! You make dinner!" There's a floomph as she plants somewhere on one of the _Liberty_ 's cushion piles. Off-screen Luka shouts about being dead on his feet, and it's only while the oils are burning, so she's washing the dishes. "Yeah, well it's a miracle, doofus!"

"Don't you have babysitting?" Marinette pouts.

"Don't you want to honor Adrien's traditions?" Alya counters sweetly. 

Adrien grins over her. 

Marinette finds no help on the way. She reaches for her purse like she could contact a second opinion, but ultimately gives it up for a lost cause. "R-right! We'll relax! For Adrien!" 

"And for the women who bravely sacrificed for all," Adrien intones.

"Them too!"

("Unreal," the Couffaine siblings chorus.)

Alix smacks down a tray of hot dogs and honey-coated fruit. "So we do nothing? Sick. Traditions, am I right?"

"Thank goodness, Alix you have to help me," Marinette makes for her side of the couch, and somehow magically produces what seems like her entire stack of wayward geography flash cards. 

"Hey, studying is a no-go!" Kim points.

With a pang, Adrien realizes that Marinette really does need help studying for the exam. Even another half-hour might make a difference. And she didn't have to go along with all of it. "What if it's not work? What if..." He ponders what Ladybug might come up with. "What if it's a game?" He turns to Marinette, hand out for the deck of flash cards. 

Blinking, she places it in his hands.

Moments later the cards are taped to everyone's foreheads. Alix has somehow added the dreidels to weight the scoring system. On both sides of the phone call, Adrien and Luka play chords when someone gets an answer wrong. They're all lightning rounds, because Alya's already gathering her coat to leave, and Adrien's not far behind. 

Marinette's laughing. "Czech Republic! No! Czechoslovakia!" 

Nino switches to Hanouccah songs between rounds. 

"Not to offend," says Juleka, soft over the pick-up. "Kinda campy."

Adrien kind of likes the songs.

"That's what we were talking about," Nino tells her.

"Oh, that's how you got those tire marks on your back, talking music on the bike again."

"What do you mean, 'again'...!" Marinette sounds like she's going to full-name Luka.

Adrien's singing along to the na-na-na part when suddenly—

Luka has grabbed the phone from his sister. "Is that dude _shredding_?"

"Totally," Nino says, dialing the volume up. 

Maybe the sound is kind of eighties, but that's when electric guitar peaked, that's when Jagged learned his licks. 

They play the song again. Adrien knows they are savaging the pronunciation, except they sing out loud anyway, with Markov painting the floor with laser subtitles, (Adrien is not going to chase the bouncing ball! He's not!) The girls speed through a silent round, with the boys switching notecards as fast as they can while still chanting through the song... 

... until the round closes with the electric solo, with everyone jumping up and playing along on air-guitar.

*

The mansion isn't cold. Just quiet. 

Not for the first time, Adrien glances at the portrait of his mom. He look over at Nathalie, who seems worn out. 

He wonders why Mother went along with it. 

Will he ever know? 

He's not great at plugging things together. He thinks about where _she_ called home. (With him. With Father.) 

He thinks about lights shining out to the world.

"Nathalie? May we spread out some of the ornaments to the garlands? And hang them over the windows?"

"Adrien," she says in that all-too-familiar 'be reasonable' tone. "No-one can see them from the outside." 

"The tree's so tall that we can't see most of them either. But, see, you chose these great crystal ones, and they'll catch the light like this," he drags a box over and aims the string lights at them. "People on the street will see that the windows are lit up for the holidays. And you won't have to turn up the electric lights as much!" 

Adrien's wheedling tone is all-too-familiar as well. Nathalie pauses to calculate the angles of his plan. That's half the battle. "It's too high for you to be on a ladder."

(Another fraction of the battle is that _Majestia Unplugged_ closed on a high note before going on hiatus. Adrien checked.) "We have Gorilla," and even as Nathalie shakes her head, "and the botanicals crew left this extendable pole!" Oh, how much easier this would be as Chat Noir. "We decorate on the ground floor, and I know Mom left some hook system up there over the windows."

Ah, there it was. Practicality, efficiency, and mentioning his Mother. "I suppose..."

"Thanks, Nathalie!" He grins. "We'll get it done in no time. And then you can enjoy the decorations when you pull up in the morning, too!" It's pointless to ask, meaningfully, if she ever actually leaves the mansion. He can't change how much she works. (As long as she's too busy to check on him on patrol nights, or during akuma attacks. He won't press his luck.)

"I... yes, of course." He's a bit shocked when Nathalie's expression softens. How tired is she? "Thank you, Adrien. That's very thoughtful of you."

And it is nice to get them all _sitting down_ and adorning the garlands together. 

It's a good memory to make. 

Maybe he can't ask his mom what she was thinking. But maybe he can ... understand a little bit more. 

* * 

Marinette walks up to the patter of tiny appendages poking her cheek.

"Wuzzawat?" 

Tikki's luminous eyes come into focus. Silently she points at the skylight.

She's wide awake now. "Trouble?"

Tikki shakes her head. 

No. It's Chat Noir.

It's not unusual to find him on her balcony. She's right next to the school, with the best vantage point, actually. She knows from Rose that he stops by her terrace, too, because it overlooks a major avenue; and from Chloé's grumblings he's been known to linger at the hotel's rooftop pool. 

Cat naps aren't strange, either.

What's unusual is he's not on the lounger where he usually curls up. 

He's so close to her trap door that she nearly hits his flank. He's sleeping close to the wall, curled up completely under the shadow of the awning.

Something pings in her head. She's too sleepy to unravel it. 

"You dumb cat," she whispers. "Come inside." 

Green eyes are barely slit open as somehow he liquifies and she pours him into her bed. "Sorry, Marine. I saw your lights on. Had to... lay my head down."

That makes no sense. 

(It makes perfect sense.)

Oddly, he rolls away from her cat pillow, which she knows he adores, to get away from the slanted glow from the skylight. Then he reaches for the cat pillow like he can't understand why it's not there. 

"Honestly," Marinette huffs, bubbling her cheek. She dodges a swipe, and surrenders the cat pillow to those kitty claws.

Then she freezes. Lights were on?

She may be able to sleep under the Parisian glow, but her parents keep the whole house blacked out overnight ... she's stubbed so many toes ... 

The house can't be burning down because Chat wouldn't be sleeping. Right? She tosses a blanket over him and slides down her ladder, and down to the living room.... carefully because she won't rush down and cause the house to burn down if it's what she thinks it is. "Tikki! Did Chat really see—?"

She halts in the middle of the staircase.

He did. 

Adrien's menorah is right in front of her. The central column plus the five lamps are topped by burning flames.

(It's kind of sad that her first thought is to hypothesize what an akuma's power might be.)

"It's okay, Marinette," says Tikki. "Max installed the mini fire retardant systems before he left, remember?"

She glares at her kwami. Of course she recalls, that was after they started teasing her over not being allowed to deep-fry unsupervised. 

"Tikki," whispers Marinette, "Did you refill the oil?"

"If I did," replies Tikki with a twinkle, "Would I tell you?"  


They stare at each other.  


Marinette yawns. "Let's... get some blankets. Could you fill a box of soufganiya for Chat?" 

"Sure. You have a long day tomorrow, Marinette. Are you sleeping on your chaise?"

"I think I'd like to sleep down here," says Marinette softly. She's still stopped in the middle of the stairs. Slowly she edges down a step. 

In the dark, the lights still burn.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (not appearing in this fic because the time period is off (since when is 20-- not this time period...?!!?!!! oh.))  
> 🐕 ♪ https://www.jpost.com/diaspora/daveed-diggs-speaks-about-representing-jews-of-color-in-hanukkah-video-652148  
> Also some manga spin-off of Devilman did come out around now, but I presume in Japanese only, so I'm guess-adding a year before the French fansubs✼ came out.  
> (✼ fan-made subtitled versions. ;p )
> 
> (appearing in this fic because this was listed as Hanukkah-related)  
> https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Dan-Nichols/L-takein-The-Na-Na-Song  
> L'takein (The Na Na Song) is apparently an American folksy favorite. I think it's about being thankful for the chance to save the earth.   
> via https://www.jewishrockradio.com/jewish-holiday-remix/
> 
> (relevant links; note to self: move some to epilogue notes)  
> Passover - shows the different Jewish communities within France's borders https://www.haggadot.com/clip/greetings-1  
> https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/hebrew-greetings-and-congratulations  
> https://www.massorti.com/-Hanouka- > https://www.massorti.com/Hanouka-en-musique ♪  
> https://fr.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1362399/jewish/Chants-de-Hanouka.htm ♪  
> http://kefisrael.com/2011/12/22/hanoucca-en-musique-et-en-chansons/ ♪ ... they likely end up here  
> 🗓️ https://www.lemagfemmes.com/Religion-juive/Hanouka-la-fete-des-lumieres.html (for spelling. summary: all 'ou')
> 
> (spoiler history-things)  
> References to nªzi theft of Jewish relics and property.  
> Picked name from Denise Bloch, WW2 spy. cw Shoah.
> 
> (early share)  
> My headcanon is Adrien eventually gets Chloé to call him 'Adi' and after a while everyone calls him Adi, which is a usual (French) diminutive of Adrien but in Hebrew is also עֲדִי [there is a website for that too! wow. blogs.transparent.com/hebrew/adi-the-origin-of-a-common-hebrew-name/ ] which means ...  
>  _jewel, adornment, ornament_. Including wedding finery. 
> 
> Adrien would adore every level of this pun, like what else could send both Hawkmoth and Ladybug into sputtering rages, I don't know why more of y'all don't bend him Jewish oh hm mm yuhuh.

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by my annual inability to join Purimgifts!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/purimgifts  
> and check out Days of Awesome as well~  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DaysOfAwesome_2020
> 
> While the author is well aware of the current situations in France, they are also aware that the majority of Miraculous Ladybug fandom _has no idea_. Please take the time to educate yourselves. France is a flashpoint for a lot of social issues. To put it very, very mildly. Your ignorance could be hurting your friends, and yourselves.  
> 
> 
> Yes, there was the Christmas special. That happened. Except I grew up with a lot of Jewish kids who also celebrated a secular Christmas. Which was quite a while ago. And if heritage is that hidden, it's not beyond belief that Emilie tried to overcompensate to 'keep the peace' aka placate Gabriel. Please do not argue canon with us; this is not your place. Enjoy the 872 Christmas fics and counting.
> 
> I will try to keep an eye on the comment section. RL is kicking my butt, so flood my inbox if need be. In the future this may be locked to Archive users.  
> This is SUPER FLUFFY, so read the room, and comport yourselves so that fluff may be enjoyed. And that I am the not-so-figurative shabbos goy in this room, and I can and will take out the trash. :) 
> 
> /outside links/  
> Car-top Hanukkah menorah parades are real! crownheights.info/chanukah/692704/photo-gallery-menorah-cars-parade-through-the-streets-of-paris/  
> lots of reading chabad.org  
> www.jewfaq.org  
> www.myjewishlearning.com  
> "to familiarize the American audience with the traditions and recipes of French Jews from Algeria" www.traditionsandrecipes.com/traditions1.html  
> www.frenchtoday.com/blog/french-culture/hanukkah-in-france-hanoucca/  
> www.lawlessfrench.com/vocabulary/hanukkah/  
> up to 1906 CE www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/11912-paris  
> fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanoucca  
> last but not least daysofawesome.tumblr.com/post/636684408253005824/ok-if-i-need-to-level-up-and-phone-a-rabbi-let (feat. my flailing)
> 
> as always, try to do your homework before you ask someone to culture-pick. back when we'd have said: ask a librarian. now you can do that, and hit the internet! you're lucky


End file.
